


The Player Swap

by Messi10_Neymar11



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 2015-2016 Season, Adjusting to new environment, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Honestly truth, Isolation, M/M, No one hates James, People can hate Leo but no one can hate James apparently, Precious James, Rivalry, Sad truth, Switching, Team Bonding, Team Fluff, Team as Family, but it is the truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 06:09:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messi10_Neymar11/pseuds/Messi10_Neymar11
Summary: Every year, in the middle of the season, a draw takes place where a player from two different teams in a certain league are randomly selected to switch places and play for the opposite team for a week.When Barcelona and Real Madrid are selected for a swap, no one is happy except for the press.Lionel Messi and James Rodriguez have to learn to adjust in their new environments and deal with having to play for the enemy.





	1. Chapter 1

_**T H E   D R A W** _

_**Messi House; Barcelona, Spain 3:45 pm** _

 

”Leo hurry up! The draw is about to start!”

 

Leo blinked out of his trance where he was staring at the wall, grabbing the bowl of chips and guacamole and rushing out of the kitchen.

 

Instantly Gerard snatches the bowls, stuffing his face with chips. Neymar stretches frantically to grab some while Dani starts fighting with Rafa over the Guacamole.

 

“You guys are acting like you haven’t eaten for days!” Marc exclaimed, ducking to avoid being hit with a tortilla chip.

 

”Stop acting like animals!” Andres barked. 

 

“Move.” Leo smacked Neymar in the head with a pillow, snuggling down in the seat next to him and Ter.

 

”I think it’s gonna be the Premier League this time.” Aleix states confidently.

 

”Nah, I’m thinking it’s gonna be Ligue 1.” Luis snorts in reply.

 

Leo turns to Ter. “Which league do you think it’s gonna be?”

 

The German ponders for a moment, a thoughtful gaze in his blue eyes. “For some reason, I think it’s gonna be ours.”

 

”No way. We got it two seasons ago.” Munir waves off.

 

”Alright, shut up. It’s starting.” Masche orders, turning the volume up.

 

Leo turns to the screen.

 

Every season, a draw takes place. All leagues from Ligue 1 to La Liga come together to draw one league in which a drawn for two team and two players from that team would take place. Both players would switch places and be required to play for the opposing team to the best of their ability for one week.

 

If the board felt like the player was purposely sabotaging another team, their respective team would lose an unbelievable 10 points from their table, and the player would be suspended for three to four weeks. 

 

Leo remembers the excitement and impatient curiosity he’d feel as a kid to see who it’d be. Now, it just fills him with anxiety. The thought of going to play for a different team for a week surrounded by unfamiliar faces made him unbelievably uncomfortable. And if he had to play against Barcelona?

 

God forbid.

 

It was different as a kid. At that age, he believe the entire thing was an amazing opportunity to see how different people could come together. It took a harsh slap in the face called _reality check_ to make him realize that all it was, was a publicity stunt.

 

As if Football wasn’t famous enough, surely this would draw in more viewers. Leo found it unbelievably stupid.

 

His eyes focus back in on the t.v, his hands nervously fiddling with each other.

 

”Welcome back! Today, we will be drawing players for _The Draw_.“ The man smiles brightly.

 

Leo already hates him.

 

”Since Serie A was drawn last season, they will not be in this season’s draw. All other leagues are open for selection. We will start with selecting a league. To help with the draw, we have a special guest. Ladies and Gentlemen, Brazilian legend, Kaká.”

 

”Yay! I love Kaká.” Neymar gushed.

 

With his usual loving smile, the Brazilian puts his hand into the bowl, grabbing the football without hesitation.

 

He opens it and smiles, presenting the thin sheet. 

 

“La Liga.”

 

”Ha! I told you!” Ter brags to Munir who rolls his eyes, scoffing a whatever under his breath. 

 

The first draw adds more tension in the room that wouldn’t be lifted until they knew Barcelona was safe.

 

”La Liga once more! Valencia and Espanyol will not be in the draw because they were the last two teams drawn in the La Liga selection. All other teams are open for selection in this Spanish league. Now, let’s see what teams will be selected.”

 

Kaká reaches into the large bowl, pulling one form the bottom. As he opens it, a surprised look crosses his face and he presentable it.

 

”FC Real Madrid.”

 

There’s a sudden moment of silence in the living room of Leo’s house before Gerard bursts out laughing. 

 

“This is perfect! As if they weren’t struggling enough in La Liga to start! God, this is great! I hope one of their idiotic strikers get chosen.” He laughs evilly.

 

”You’re horrible, Geri.” Marc shakes his head disapprovingly.

 

Geri shrugs, a smug look twinkling in his eyes.

 

”Wow— Real Madrid. Your old team, eh? It’s the first time Real Madrid has been drawn since 1986.” The host sounds impressed. Kaká looks a bit weary, smile slightly forced. “We will draw the next team and then see which players will be drawn.” 

 

Kaká puts his hand in and Leo has a bad feeling for some reason.

 

”Hey you guys...” he trails off, narrowing his eyes when Kaká pulls out the little football. He opens it, pulling the paper out and unfolding it.

 

Then he freezes, body tensing.

 

The feeling in Leo’s stomach worsens.

 

Kaká glances at the host who is frozen in shock as well.

 

Then the paper is shown, and a surprised gasp is heard in the conference hall followed by violently loud clicks of cameras.

 

”FC Barcelona.”

 

Everyone in the living room stops and Gerard’s face drops in shock.

 

Leo stared at the screen, horrified.

 

Neymar chokes on tortilla chips.

 

Everyone is silent.

 

”Oh. My. Fucking. _God_.” Rafa whispers.

 

All of a sudden Dani is attacking Geri who screamed, scrambling to get away from the Brazilian’s angry hands. “You jinxed us motherfucker!”

 

Leo covered his face with his hands. 

 

“FC Barcelona... That’s... quite the surprise.” The host trailed off. “First time El Clasico rivals have been chosen in a draw!”

 

Dani glares at Geri from where he’s leaning on the wall, arms crossed. “If he doesn’t get chosen for the switch, I’m going to kill him.” He states.

 

”Let’s choose the players. Since Real Madrid was selected first, we’ll chose a player from the Merengues first.”

 

Still dazed, Kaká goes to the bowl and hesitantly stuck his hand in, picking one.

 

”If it’s Ramos, you’re dead Geri.” Rafa tells him.

 

”Oh God.” Gerard sobbed. 

 

He unfolds the paper, a relieved look in his eyes as he presents it.

 

”James Rodriguez.”

 

A breath of relief is released among the Barcelona players.

 

”You’re so damn lucky. James is the best we could’ve gotten out of all of them.” Sergi states. 

 

James. Leo feels some tension leave his body. James was one of the nicest and most bareable from the Madrid squad. He can deal with James for a week.

 

“Alright, now let’s chose the Barcelona player.” They move to the next bowl.

 

The tension fills the room once again.

 

”It’s gonna be Marc.” Geri whispers. “Shut the fuck up Geri, you’re scaring me.” The Spaniard smacks his arm, eyes not leaving the screen.

 

Leo’s eyes didn’t waver from the screen, unblinking as he reached for his glass of water to drink from.

 

Kaká pulls out a football, unscrewing the cap and pulling out the paper. He unfolds it and freezes. The host behind him starts coughing suddenly.

 

Kaká looks down at it with wide eyes, unfocused. He turns to stare hazily at the host who doesn’t speak, frozen as well. Then he hesitantly presents the paper to the screen.

 

”Lionel Messi.”

 

The glass drops from Leo’s hand, shattering into a million pieces on the wooden floor as he stared at the screen in absolute shock, completely horrified.

 

Neymar’s head turns slowly to stare at Leo with wide green eyes, looking like a cartoon.

 

Gerard sat limp, staring blankly at the piece of paper.

 

”Oh fuck.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

_**T H E   S E T - U P** _

 

_**Ciutat Esportiva; Barcelona, Spain 8:56 am** _

 

Leo stared down hard at the wood, silent as the men continued to argue. His fingers fiddled with each other nervously, clenching around each other when words became too heated. He suddenly felt unbearably warm under his suit but sat quietly with a heavy heart, shoes shuffling against the tiled floor ever once a while in a fidget. His eyes peaked up to glance at the suited men around the large conference table their face contorting anger. 

 

“We are not sending our greatest asset to the enemies! Have all of you lost your minds!? This team is nothing without him!” One whose name Leo couldn’t be bother to remember shouted. Leo narrowed his eyes on the man staring at his red face.

 

He looked like a squashed tomato with tiny glasses. 

 

“Don’t say that.” Leo spoke, voice soft and calm.

 

The room quiets.

 

”It’s true, Messi.” Tomato man states. “You’re the only reason we win.”

 

”Are you forgetting my knee injury that had me bed ridden for up to two months? And those guys worked their asses off on that pitch to ensure that we stayed number one on the table, so don’t you dare tell me that I’m the biggest asset to this team, when the biggest asset _is_ the team.” Leo snapped.

 

”It’s almost like you _want_ to go to Madrid.” He shot back.

 

 _Is this guy an idiot?_ Leo thinks to himself, clenching his jaw angrily.

 

“I didn’t sleep at all last night because of this mess— of course I don’t want to go to Madrid. But don’t try to argue with BS like that. I’m sure there’s another way we can sort this out.” Leo reasons in a quiet voice, looking down at his hands.

 

“But there _isn’t_ another way, Lionel.” Bartomeu stresses, pushing his glasses up further the bridge of his nose.

 

”Like hell there isn’t.” Another man on the far end cuts in. “Messi doesn’t need to leave. Not if we take the Out-Leave Clause.”

 

Another man turns to him sharply, a stern look in his eyes. “Have you gone insane? The Out-Leave Clause?”

 

Ah yes. The Out-Leave Clause. The clause which states that the club refuses to give a player in for a swap, in which the player doesn’t move teams for the week. 

 

“If we take that route then we lose ten points on the table and Messi doesn’t play for two weeks!” A fourth man states furiously.

 

”Not only that, but we compensate Real Madrid five points.” The third one gives the second a dirty look.

 

”So? We’re eighteen points ahead of Real, seventeen ahead of atletico. We lose ten and give Madrid the five, then we’re three points ahead of Real and Two ahead of Atletico.” Angry red tomato man says arrogantly. 

 

“We aren’t going to play in such a minuscule point difference half way through the season!” Another calls out.

 

”A lead is a lead.” 

 

“Aren’t you the one who said Messi is the whole team? Then what will the whole team do without Messi for two weeks with both Real and Atletico hot behind them? Lose?” The third one asks sarcastically.

 

 _Ouch. Shots fired_. Leo thinks to himself.

 

Angry red tomato man stops abruptly, blinking.

 

It becomes silent in the conference room.

 

”The truth is that none of us want Lionel Messi to go to Real Madrid,” Bartomeu says loudly for everyone to hear as he leans back in his chair at the head of the table, looking like a dictator as he squints his eyes behind his tiny rimmed glasses. Leo looks at him hesitantly through the corner of his eye, head lowered and silent. 

 

Of course Leo is quiet— because his choice doesn’t _matter_. The minute he signed his contract it didn’t matter. He doesn’t get to choose. The board decides for him and he has no choice but to follow it like a puppet on strings. 

 

“We have a way to get out of it and still come out on top— but barely.” He continues, standing up and walking slowly behind his chair, leaning in and watching everyone carefully. “Now the real question is— is the benefit worth the risk?” 

 

Silence in the room.

 

”Everyone knows that our team is phenomenal. Each player to their own. But it is no lie that Leo Messi is a game changer and has the most impact to our success. So— Do we want to give our number one man to the enemy for a week with eighteen points clear? Or do we want to risk being two points in the lead with no number one man for _two_ weeks?”

 

Leo squeezes his eyes shut.

 

”Well. We all know the only one way to settle this in a wonderful city of democracy,” Bartomeu smiles sarcastically. “Is to vote. So... all in favor of following the Out-Leave Clause, raise a hand.” 

 

Leo doesn’t look.

 

”All in favor of the swap, raise a hand.”

 

A moment of silence.

 

Leo opens his eyes and feels dread enter him upon seeing the defensive gaze in Bartomeu‘s eyes as he looked straight at him.

 

”The board has decided,” he states darkly, a bitter smile on his face. “Congratulations Lionel Messi. You are officially a Real Madrid player for the week starting Monday.”

 

_His choice doesn’t matter._

 

~

 

  ** _Rodriguez House; Madrid, Spain 10:24 am_**

 

”This is bullshit!” Sergio snaps. “I cannot believe we got fucking _Messi_ of all people!” 

 

James fiddled with his fingers quietly, biting his lip as he sat on the stool by the counter top. 

 

“What are we going to tell Cristiano?” Isco asked in a hushed whisper.

 

Sergio ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck man— I don’t know. The dumbass broke his phone and he’s in Portugal. And you know Cris— he isn’t gonna be in on the gossip. Let’s just hope he gets back before the little flea does.”

 

“Fuck all of that— what _I_ can’t believe is how we’re sending our precious child Hammie out to play with those Barça monsters.” Marcelo pouts, hugging James tightly.

 

”They really aren’t all that bad.” James shrugs weakly, trying not to show how gutted he really was for leaving the team. 

 

Marcelo cups James’ face in his hands, looking down at the younger man who blinks innocently back up at him. 

 

“Listen. Your big brother’s got you covered. I’m going to talk to Dani, Rafa, Adriano and Ney to make sure you’re 100% comfortable and happy.” He tells him sternly. 

 

“Damn. We can’t even do the Out-Leave Clause. There’s no way we can afford to lose anymore points.” Sergio mutters, rubbing his temples tiredly.

 

James sighed, laying his cheek against the cool top of his counter, frowning. He really didn’t think it’d be him of all people. He didn’t really know how to feel at first, mixed emotions swirling around in him like a tornado. Of course it would be unbelievably awkward. He didn’t know anyone on the Barcelona team. No one from Colombia played there, and no old Madrid or Monaco players either. 

 

_“You know we don’t want to send you out there, James.” Florentino Pérez began with a sympathetic smile._

 

_James can tell by the look in his eyes that it is all completely insincere._

 

_“But we just can’t afford to lose ten points.” He says. James nods quietly. “I understand. Whatever’s better for the team is what I’ll go with.”_

 

_The old man puts a firm pat on his shoulder, a dark grin on his face. “Good boy.”_

 

“This entire thing is just stupid.” Gareth sighs. “Why do they do shit like this?”

 

”It’s a show. A method to draw in more fans when we don’t fucking need to. We’ve got over three billion fans worldwide in football. This just fucking sucks.” Karim answers. 

 

James was afraid to say that he was a little excited to go to Barcelona. Afraid his teammates would be unbelievably offended and upset with him. So he kept his mouth shut.

 

He wonders what Messi thinks about the entire thing. Considering how reserved and quiet the man was, he was probably freaking out. Messi, James came to realize, was comfortable in Barcelona with his team. Like a big family. And Messi seemed like the type of guy that would freak out if all that was snatched away in an instant. 

 

He didn’t want to leave Madrid. It took a while for him to build himself up to where he stood in the team. And he was afraid. Afraid all that would be swiped away from under him like a rug. And he was worried about what the fans would think about him playing for Barcelona. 

 

But he had a feeling they’d be too focused on the fact that Lionel Messi is playing with Real Madrid instead of on him. He feels guilty for being relieved that most the pressure isn’t on his shoulders. This was hard for both of them, but Messi definitely had it worse than he did. 

 

James stares at his suitcase in the far corner of the room, Sergio and Marcelo’s bickering becoming a distant noise in his ears.

 

He could only hope for the best.

 

~

 

**_Press Conference; Zaragoza, Spain 6:28 am_ **

 

Leo shuffled around the room after the photos were taken. 

 

He tugged on his collar nervously, looking around. He kept his face neutral, heavily aware of the many cameras focused on his every move. This was the only way he protected himself— by acting like he was unfazed. They could call him pecho frío all they liked. He didn’t care. If this is how he could keep himself safe from all the evil in the world, so be it. 

 

These people don’t know him. They slap his picture on a piece of paper and put a title on it, selling it for money to people who only want to see him crack and break into a thousand pieces. And believe him, he has. He’s broken too many times to count.

 

 _Rio De Janerio, Brazil; July 13th 2014._ His mind whispers to him. 

 

He shakes his head, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to look casual. _It’s been over a year— get a fucking grip, Leo_. He tries to calm himself down.

 

 _Failure_.

 

”Leo?”

 

A gentle hand is on his shoulder and he turns to see a smiling Geri, but Leo sees— he sees the hidden concern laced behind his gaze.

 

”You good?”

 

Leo brings a small forced smile to his face as he nods, not trusting his voice.

 

The look in his friend’s eyes make it obvious that he doesn’t believe him. Leo is only relieved that he chooses to let it go.

 

“You ready to get out of here? My eyes are starting to hurt.” Geri whispers.

 

Leo nods frantically, already turning to the doors. He stops abruptly when he notices a familiar figure towards the side,  smiling brightly for the cameras although looking a bit uncomfortable. His suit looked just as polished as when they all had first arrived, a complete contrast to Leo’s disheveled mess.

 

All of a sudden, Leo’s feet are moving against his own will and he approaches the other. Bright brown eyes look at him in surprise when he stops in front of him. Leo smiles, holding out a hand.

 

”Hey, Rodriguez.”

 

James blinks, slightly dazed as he reaches out and shakes Leo’s hand hesitantly. “Hi Messi.”

 

”Just Leo.” He corrects.

 

”Leo,” James repeats with a smile. “Then it’s James.”

 

”So, crazy couple of days, huh?” Leo mutters to him, turning away from cameras so they could have even the tiniest bit of privacy. 

 

“Man, you have no idea...” James rubs his forehead, and Leo is surprised that it’s the first moment all night that he’s noticed how tired the Colombian looks. 

 

“Don’t worry, kid. The guys are happy to have you for the week.” Leo smiles at him, nudging the other gently.

 

”Really?” James looks surprised. “With the way the Madrid guys acted about you, I would’ve thought they’d hated me—“ James slaps a hand over his mouth with wide doe like eyes. Leo’s smile drops.

 

”I mean— they’re very excited to play with you too.” James rushes out.

 

”James—“

 

”No, really! Everyone was so happy to hear we got you!”

 

”James—“

 

”Sergio even made a cake to celebrate— can you believe it!?” 

 

“James!” Leo shakes his head, trying to hold back a snort of a laugh. Ramos? Making him a cake? Leo was pretty sure the Madrid captain didn’t even know how to heat up a piece of bread without setting his whole house on fire.

 

James looks guilty, as if he’s revealed this big dressing room secret that he wasn’t suppose to.

 

Leo doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he already knows how much everyone at Real Madrid hates him.

 

“It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” Leo promises.

 

”I’m... really sorry.” James says quietly. “They don’t like you.”

 

”I know,” Leo admits, voice quiet. “Forget that, alright? No need to beat yourself up about it.” 

 

James frowns at the ground, and Leo suddenly gets an idea. “Hey— why don’t we help each other out?”

 

The Colombian looks up, a curious gaze in his eyes. “How?”

 

“Give me your phone for a sec.” James furrows his brows in confusion, but pulls out his phone anyway, unlocking it.

 

Leo takes it, opening up the message box and is overwhelmed by all the Real Madrid players in it. He ignores it, not one to go snooping in other peoples privacy when he himself values his own privacy at such a high stake.

 

Instead, he presses for a new message and types his number in, sending a smiley face. When Leo’s phone pings, he opens it and puts the number under James with a Colombian flag next to it.

 

Understanding what Leo means, James quickly saves the number under Leo.

 

Leo can’t help but smile when the Madridsta puts a lion, crown, and Argentina flag emoji next to it.

 

”So,” Leo began. “If you need my help or advice in Barcelona, you can text me. And if I need your help or advice in Madrid, I can text you. Fair enough?” 

 

James stares at him for a while, bewildered.

 

Leo falters, and then sighs, shoulders lowering. “Listen, James. The situation we're in isn’t ideal. I know neither of us are doing this willingly. We’re just doing what’s best for our teams.” His gaze on the younger man is heated. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be all that bad, alright? If we can make it easier then we should. I honestly don’t think you’ll need my help that much because everyone loves you, but...”

 

”You’re going to struggle.” James finishes.

 

”I’m _already_ struggling.” Leo admits with desperation and frustration. “Fuck— and I haven’t even gone to Madrid yet.” He whispers to himself.

 

James puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I’ll help you. You... You don’t have to do _everything_ alone.”

 

Leo frowns. But that’s what everyone expects. If Barcelona loses, then it’s obviously his fault. If Argentina loses, then it’s no one else’s fault but his. How can he not do everything alone when everyone demands him to? 

 

“I... This is hard.” Leo says calmly then.

 

”Yeah, it is. But I’m here, and you’re here. And we won’t do this alone.” James tells him. “I can talk to the guys at Madrid. They really aren’t that bad when you get to know them.”

 

Leo has a hard time believing that. When Leo thinks Madrid, all he thinks is a group of hotheaded and arrogant players who felt like it was their job to make Barcelona look as bad as possible.

 

_Geri does the same thing, though._

 

_So does Dani sometimes._

 

_And maybe— okay, so they’re both flawed. Whatever._

 

Leo looks over to see James staring at him with wide eyes and gives him a small smile.

 

”They were wrong about you.” James says suddenly.

 

Leo froze, smile dropping as he watched James give him a firm pat on the shoulder, walking to the far side of the room.

 

 So maybe going to Madrid was absolutely horrible. But...

 

Leo glances back at the grinning Colombian and feels a smile of his own growing on his face.

 

Sometimes you can find a glowing light in even the darkest of tunnels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lmao. I am actually getting so annoyed with everyone saying the Real Madrid vs Juventus match was rigid.
> 
> Are you kidding me!?
> 
> Yeah, we played absolute shit. That was one of the worst UCL matches I’ve ever seen Real Madrid play, and it’s pathetic of us that we needed a penalty to get through to the semis because everyone knows we’re better than that. We should’ve scored three more goals against them instead of allowing three to slip away. 
> 
>  
> 
> But that doesn’t mean the game was fucking rigid. The red card against Buffon was BS, I’ll admit. But that penalty was definitely deserved and if you say otherwise you’re insane. 
> 
> Sorry, but I needed to get that off my chest.
> 
> Also I can’t believe Barcelona lost to AS Roma. I’m in as much shock as everyone else. How that could’ve ever possibly happened is beyond me. 
> 
> I think the whole team was worn out and Valverde needs to learn how to put in substitutes at the right time with the right players, because that cost them a lot of the game. He needs to learn about rotations because those players are way too tired. That’s the problem with Barcelona in my opinion.
> 
> And omfg, is my baby James Rodriguez really about to play against us, his old team? T_T What is thisssss. Noooo. Jamessss. 
> 
> I don’t think we’ll win the league, but I’m optimistic for the UCL. I think it’s going to be Real Madrid vs Liverpool. Damn, that match would be so exciting! I’m actually quite happy Liverpool got this far. I hope they make it to the Final.
> 
> Welp, this took a while so I hope you enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Iniesta is gone, and it is honestly so upsetting that I won’t get to see him play in El Clasicos anymore. Even as a RM supporter, you have to respect everything Iniesta has done for Barcelona and I wish him the best regards to whichever club he goes to. 
> 
> My heart goes out to him as a Spain supporter and as a respectful rival. I am excited to see him at the World Cup, and hopefully Spain will win!
> 
> Also did you know that there are so many people that don’t know James is pronounced Ha-Mez?? 
> 
> Lord pray for these people lmao. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I had this finished earlier but didn’t have time to post it or edit, so here it is now.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leave a comment! I love feedback!

_**M A D R I D** _

 

_**Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas Airport; Madrid, Spain 10:21 am** _

 

Here’s the problem. Leo had gotten a text and had spoken to Bartomeu who both told him specifically that someone was suppose to pick him up from the airport at eight am. Not only was there no one there to pick him up, but he also waited there for three and a half hours (His flight landed at seven) before he had enough patience, deciding to find his own way to the training grounds.

 

He hadn’t even been in Madrid for a day and he already hated it.

 

He really didn’t understand what was so difficult. Normally the captain was the one who came to pick up the swapped player. Or at least— that’s what Andres would do back at Barcelona. And since Iker wasn’t at Madrid anymore, that role fell on Ramos.

 

Who... didn’t like him.

 

Leo shakes the thought away, dragging his suitcase along with him towards the entrance, smiling weakly for some pictures of fans that jumped in front of him excitedly.

 

Despite the occasional fan he crossed, it was nothing compared to the large masses of people who threw him dirty looks and shouted profanities at him. But it was nothing— Leo had grown to perfect his nonchalant face throughout the years.

 

If he was being honest, he wasn’t even surprised by the reactions he got. What did he expect? For all these dedicated and hardcore Real Madrid fans to suddenly love him now that he was one of them for the week? Yeah right. Once a culé, always a culé. It was something Leo was incredibly good at. Lowering his standards and expectations. Because high hopes only lead to disappointment and pain.

 

_”You’re a pessimist, dude.” Geri tells him one day when they lose the Copa Del Rey in the Semis to Real Madrid._

_Leo shrugged, unfazed by his words. “I’m not the one crying in front of millions of people.”_

_Gerard gives him that knowing look. Because Gerard wasn’t an idiot. Leo doesn’t show emotions— but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there._

_”Bottle it up and you’ll burst my friend.” He says calmly, blue eyes staring at the disappointed fans deserting their seats in the stands, Barcelona flags left flat on the ground._

_“Not if you’ve got a strong bottle.” Leo argues with narrowed eyes, peeling his jersey off his body._

_Gerard let’s out a short chuckle, dry and sarcastic. “Even the strongest glass breaks at some point. And you my friend, will explode into a million pieces. Pieces that’ll hit and hurt everyone around you.” His blue eyes stare at Leo. “And that moment, will be your greatest loss.”_

 

Leo squints as flashing lights blind his vision. 

 

There are too many people shouting his name— too many reporters asking him questions about stuff that he’s just not in the mood to answer with lies and fake smiles.

 

It’s raining, the droplets of water soaking into his hair slightly, making the mostly dry hair a bit damp.

 

”Messi! Messi! How does it feel to know that you’ll be playing with your enemies and fighting your own team for a top spot on the Liga board!?”

 

”Messi— what do you think of James Rodriguez? Is he Barça material!?”

 

“Leo! Do you still think Barcelona will be able to win a treble once again now that you’re gone?”

 

”Lionel! How will Barcelona cope with you gone?”

 

Fucking hell— he was just leaving for a week, he wasn’t dead, Jesus. These people need to chill the fuck out.

 

”Taxi!” Leo called out loudly, rushing over with the press hot behind his heels with even more questions.

 

”Messi, why are you going in a taxi? Isn’t someone coming to get you?”

 

 _Apparently fucking not_. Leo thinks to himself, ducking his head down to look at the driver through the open window. “Hey— can you take me to Ciudad Real Madrid, please? Real Madrid’s training grounds?” 

 

The man blinks slowly then a sneer forms on his face. “Aye, you’re that Barça kid, Messi! The fuck I look like, huh? Driving a culé around in Madrid. Get outta here.” He scoffs, pulling his car away causing Leo to straighten with a small glare at the car.

 

He swerved and drives off, splashing into a puddle that causes the street water to hit Leo fully, soaking him completely.

 

Leo sputters, blinking and coughing a little. He wipes his wet face, running a hand through his soaking wet hair to pull it out of his eyes as he gave a death glare to the disappearing car.

 

Shivering from the cold gust that hits his wet body, he drags his suit case with defeated slump to the next waiting taxi, the journalists still following him like lost puppies.

 

He ducked his head down, a more cautious look in his eyes this time.

 

”Can you take me to Ciudad Real Madrid please?” He asks quietly, eyes pleading for this old man to just get him the hell out of here.

 

The old man stares at him for a moment with a look of, surprisingly enough, concern. Then he smiles kindly. “No problem, son. Come on in— it’s cold out there.” 

 

With a sigh of relief, Leo opens the door.

 

”Leo! What do you think about playing with Cristi—“

 

Leo slams the door shut.

 

”I apologize about your seats. I’m a bit wet.” Leo admits with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, blinking at the old man who shakes his head with a sad smile. 

 

“Don’t worry about it, son. I apologize on behalf of these ignorant people. This is not the representation of Madrid, I promise. You probably think badly of us now.”

 

Leo quickly shakes his head stubbornly. “Of course not. It is a beautiful city.”

 

”That it is. Where you need to go you said? Ciudad Real?” He asks, turning up the heat in which Leo’s shivering body is grateful for.

 

“Yes sir.” Leo answers respectfully. The man looks contemplative for a moment as he pulls out, driving down the street and finally leaving those reporters. It’s the only time Leo relaxes his tense body all day.

 

“You’re the one who transferred in place of Rodriguez, aren’t you? Lionel Messi?”

 

Leo nods, small. The man smiles. “Ah. Well, Lionel Messi. It’s nice to meet you. I am happy you’re here.”

 

”Really?” Leo is surprised.  He nods. “Was excited the moment I heard your name at the draw. You’ll play wonderfully with Madrid.”

 

Leo looks out the window with a frown. He wasn’t sure about that. Real Madrid’s playing style was totally different from the way Barça played. He would struggle for sure. 

 

He sneezed.

 

Officially the worst fucking day he’s ever had in Madrid.

 

~

 

_**Ciudad Real Madrid; Madrid, Spain 10:54 am** _

 

 

Leo’s shoes made squelching sounds against the tiled floor as he approached the front desk, the woman behind it widening her eyes upon seeing him.

 

She shot up with a look of shock on her face. “Mr. Messi!”

 

”I’m not late, am I?” He asks tiredly, his suit feeling incredibly uncomfortable now, sticking to his body like a second skin.

 

”Where is Mr. Ramos?”

 

Leo gave her a pointed look. “Not with me. I don’t know where he is.”

 

”He must’ve forgotten you were coming today.” She looks guilty.

 

Leo only gives her a worn smile, fiddling his fingers nervously against the handle of his suitcase. 

 

“I’m sorry— please follow me. The players are in the dressing room. They just finished practice.” She walks out from behind the desk, leading Leo down a hallway.

 

Leo watches his feet as he walks, glancing out the window they pass by to peek a look at the pitch. It’s still raining, but the drizzle is light.

 

They stop in front of the door and she pushes it open for him with a smile. “Sergio will help you out.”

 

”Thank you, miss.” Leo gives her a kind smile, walking in with a bit of hesitancy.

 

His smile drops instantly when he catches gaze of Sergio sitting on the bench, struggling to pull his socks off. So he really did forget.

 

The door shuts behind him with a distinctive click, causing Marcelo to throw a quick and bored glance up at the entry, his eyes widening when he sees Leo.

 

Isco also sees Leo, and he stumbles a bit in his step, freezing.

 

”Sergio, did you fucking forget to pick up Messi!?” Marcelo asks loudly, causing everyone to stop talking, turning to the Brazilian with confusion.

 

The Spaniard snorts, not looking up. “Of course not. The little flea isn’t coming today.”

 

”Then what is that!?” Isco exclaims, pointing to Leo.

 

Sergio looks up with an annoyed look but stops when he sees the Barça man, mouth dropping. He lets out a shriek, causing Dani to smack him in the arm.

 

The Real Madrid players stare. They take in Leo’s shivering form, the very expensive and very _wet_ tailored suit clinging to his skin uncomfortably. They assess his reddened cheeks and nose from the cold and bright, large, brown eyes. His soaking hair is pulled back, a couple strands falling on his forehead as droplets of water trickled down the smooth planes of his cheeks and jaw, catching into his long eyelashes and causing a small puddle around his dress shoes to form. Leo stares at them with a grim expression, pink lips pulled into a tight line. His eyes hold a weariness and guarded look.

 

”What the fuck are you doing here!?” Sergio asks accusingly.

 

Leo blinks at him, not sure how to answer.

 

”You forgot to pick him up, obviously.” Benzema snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers with a raised eyebrow.

 

”No I didn’t. He was suppose to come on Sunday.” Sergio states arrogantly.

 

Marcelo face palms and Gareth rolls his eyes. “What day is it Sese?”

 

”Saturday.”

 

”It’s _Sunday_.” Jese stresses.

 

Sergio frowns, then a heartbroken expression forms on his face. “I was suppose to go to church this morning.”

 

”For fucks sake... you left Leo at the damn airport.” Marcelo mutters to himself in disbelief.

 

Sergio’s eyes widen in realization. “Shit.”

 

Leo sighs quietly to himself, lowering his gaze.

 

The Spaniard turns to him with a guilty look. “Hey Messi. I didn’t mean it— really. I honestly thought it was Saturday today. When did your flight land?”

 

”Seven.” Leo replies with a quiet voice.

 

Sergio blinks slowly. “ _Seven_? You’ve been at the airport for four hours?” His gaze lowered to take in Leo’s appearance once again. “Did you.. Did you _walk_ here?”

 

”Of course not. I took a taxi.” Leo sniffles when his nose tickles.

 

”I’m so sorry dude—“ Sergio began but Leo cut him off. “It’s fine.”

 

“It really isn’t. He’s suppose to be your responsibility.” Marcelo snorts to Sergio who turns to him with a glare. “Iker _just_ fucking left. This Captain stuff is still really fucking new and hard for me okay? Give me a break. But I will admit, it was a dick move—“ he turns back to Leo who stops him again. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

Then an awkward silence grows and Leo walks over to James’ locker, standing in front of it and gazing at the metal curiously. “Am I suppose to use his for the week?” 

 

A look of burning hatred grows in Pepe’s eyes at the thought, and Leo’s surprised the defender has been this quiet.

 

Marcelo nods, although he looks sad. “Yeah. He already cleaned it out for you.”

 

”Sorry. I’m just... new to this.”

 

”Yeah, so are we. Madrid hasn’t been drawn since the 80’s.” Isco mumbles to himself.

 

Leo opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped when the door to the dressing room is sprung open.

 

”Alright slaves, I’m back! Who missed me?”

 

Leo’s eyes widened when he sees the figure, body going rigid, because how could he have possibly forgotten the most important thing in Madrid— 

 

Cristiano Ronaldo walks in with a large smirk on his face, light brown eyes glinting. His jelled hair is styled like usual, and his clothes perfectly pressed without a single wrinkle present, his shoes polished reflectively clean.

 

It’s such an obvious distinction from Leo’s disheveled and messy appearance, that Leo’s mouth dries up.

 

”Fuck.” Sergio cursed, straightening up and looking at Cristiano carefully with a weary expression.

 

”Cris, Uh—“

 

Cristiano dumps his bag on a bench with his name over it, knocking over Toni’s water bottle by accident.

 

”So, what’s the matter with all of you? It’s so damn quiet in here.” Cris muses, turning around while bringing a water bottle up to his lips.

 

As he turns, he catches Leo’s gaze and freezes up, water bottle dropping from his hand and crashing to the ground with a loud thump that echoed throughout the impeccably silent room.

 

”What the fuck is _that_?” He asks slowly, eyes not leaving Leo.

 

” _That_ ,” Marcelo began with an unimpressed tone. “Is Leo. Lionel Messi.”

 

”I know who he is!” Cris snapped, face suddenly angry. “I meant why is it _here_!?”

 

It. It’s the first time anyone’s referred to Leo as _it_ in his face.

 

Cristianos eyes suddenly started filtering around the room, searching for something with an intense gaze. “Where’s Hammie?” The Madrid players give each other looks, a thick and awkward silence growing in the room.

 

When no one replies, Sergio steps in. “Cris, you know what happened while you were gone, right?” He begins.

 

”I have a feeling I don’t fucking want to know, Sese.” Cristiano’s face scrunches up.

 

”You know about The Draw, right Cristiano?”

 

Cristiano blinks slowly, trying to process what exactly was happening. Leo can tell the minute the realization settles in when Cristiano’s eyes that were filled with confusion and worry suddenly switched to that of horror and disbelief. “Oh no... please don’t tell me...”

 

”Real Madrid and Barcelona got drawn.” Marcelo threads carefully.

 

Cristiano turns to Leo with a certain burning hatred in his eyes, unforgiving glare focused solely on him. Leo, to his own relief, manages to keep a calm gaze, staring right back at the Portuguese to show that he isn’t afraid and nothing Cris does or says will make him turn that way.

 

“I can’t fucking believe this. James went to Barcelona?” He spits, sizing up Leo as his eyes trailed up and down his body. “And we got _him_?”

 

Leo scoffs and everyone turns to him. “This isn’t exactly the most ideal situation for me either buddy, so don’t act like you got the short end of the stick here.” 

 

Cristiano’s glare turns even more heated. Leo was surprised that the words had even come out of his mouth. But the obvious disdain Cristiano has of him annoyed Leo for some reason. It’s not like he wants to be here anymore than they want him there.

 

“There’s no place for a culé in Madrid.” Cristiano grinds out with venom.

 

”And maybe that’s why you’re third in the league.”

 

The words are insulting to everyone else in the room, not just Cristiano. Leo realizes, but he feels no regret. If he’s going to be surrounded by a pack of wolves snapping at him with their teeth, then he was going to bite back. 

 

Sergio looks unbelievably offended and Pepe storms out of the room. Marcelo throws Leo a quick irritated glance while Bale and Benzema scowled, Isco narrowing his eyes on the Argentine.

 

He feels like a one man band. Like he’s the only one on the pitch facing off all these Madridstas.

 

Cristiano looks down right furious, face reddening with anger. When he opens his mouth again to snip back a snarl of a reply, Marcelo steps in quickly before things get really ugly.

 

”Alright you two, stop. That’s enough.”

 

Leo stares right at Cristiano, gaze filled with emotion. This was fucking worse than he thought it would be. With everything that happened this morning with the whole airport drama, and now Cristiano’s defensive and cold shoulder, Leo just wants to hide out in his room for the next month.

 

But he can’t do that.

 

So he kept a neutral face, acted like he was unbothered by the blatant hatred in the room directed towards him.

 

”So... Wait, where is he staying?” Isco asks curiously. Leo glances at him and then everyone else’s faces that all grew very uncomfortable.

 

”Um... I haven’t thought that through.” Sergio admits.

 

”You’re the captain, he'll stay with you.” Dani mutters harshly, trying to be discrete but Leo hears him. Sergio throws his teammate a murdeous glare. “Are you an idiot? He is _not_ staying with me.” He whispers back.

 

”He’s definitely not staying with me.” Isco grumbled to himself.

 

Leo shut his eyes in irritation.

 

”Marcelo will keep him.” Sergio murmurs. Marcelo throws the defender a dirty look. “Like hell I will. You’re the captain, Sese. This is your responsibility.” 

 

“Ex-fucking-cuse me. I don’t see anywhere in League rules where it says the captain has to fucking do everything.” Sergio snapped.

 

”Right. You’re just expected to by the entire team!” Benzema snorts a reply back.

 

”Why the fuck—“

 

 “Just tell me what the best hotel in Madrid is.” Leo cut in with a cold voice, causing everyone to turn to him. “I’ll stay there for the week. It’s no problem. No need to inconvenience yourselves.” He tries to say them kindly, but his tone gives away to the fact that he’s upset.

 

Sergio looks guilty then, eyes lighting. “Wait— no! Um... Stay with Pepe!”

 

”Are you insane!?” Everyone snapped loudly and simultaneously, causing Sergio to flinch, a panicked look in his gaze.

 

“Cristiano will keep you!”

 

Leo squeezes a grip around the end of his blazer, clutching the material tightly in his hand as he glances at Cristiano’s bewildered expression. “Excuse me? Who the hell said I would?”

 

”Cris, please.” Sergio hisses, looking beyond irritated. “You live alone in your own little fucking palace. The rest of us don’t. You are the most qualified to. And you guys can bond more for the week, because you both definitely need it the most if we’re going to play together.” He reasons but Cristiano isn’t having any of it.

 

”I don’t give a fuck. I’ll murder the little thing in his sleep before the third day!” Cris snarls.

 

”Cristiano I’m not asking, I’m telling. Leo _will_ stay with you and that’s final. And this isn’t your friend speaking, but your captain.” Sergio states with finality. 

 

“So now you want to play fucking captain.” Cristiano grits out through a clenched jaw, slamming his locker shut loudly.

 

Leo grabs his suitcase suddenly, fed up with everyone in the room. All eyes flicker over to him quickly.

 

”Leo? Where are you going—“ Marcelo began but the Argentine cuts him off with a sharp look.

 

”I am leaving. There is no point in forcing someone into something when they clearly aren’t comfortable with it. So out of respect for all of your privacies, I will find my own living arrangements. Thanks for the help.” The last part is spoken out with obvious sarcasm that causes the Madrid players to flinch.

 

”Leo, wait—“ Sergio puts a hand on his shoulder put Leo pulls away roughly, turning to stare at all of them, gaze hard.

 

”How much do any of you actually know about me?” Leo demands. The room goes quiet. “What have I _done_? To make you all dislike me _this_ much? Score a few goals every year? Really? I’m not fucking Geri that bad mouths any of you every chance I get, and I’m not any of those fans in the stands cursing at you. So what’s the big deal? I don’t fucking care if you all hate me quite frankly. I just hoped that maybe you’d be willing to make the best of this situation because this fucking _sucks_. So if you’re so damn uncomfortable with me being here then may I please for the love of _God_ just fucking _leave_?” 

 

Everyone is is staring at him gobsmacked and Leo scoffs, turning with a roll of his eyes. “Best club in the world my _ass_.”

 

Just as he was about to storm out of the door, something hits him roughly on the head. Leo stumbles a bit, blinking at the cloth covering his vision.

 

He pulls it off and stares down at it. A towel. Warily, he turns his head, seeing Cristiano lowering his hand with a neutral look on his face, surprising calm after everything that happened. “Take a shower. We’ll leave after check ups which won’t take too long. So hurry.” He grumbles out, not looking very happy.

 

Leo stares at him with a guarded look, not trusting. Cristiano rose an eyebrow mockingly. “You aren’t getting in my car in that. You’ll ruin my seats.”

 

Leo narrowed his eyes which Cris replies to with a glare of his own.

 

Breaking out of his gaze, Leo practically rips his tie off dumping it on a table and throwing his blazer on it afterwards, giving the Madrid players one last cautious look before trudging unwillingly to the showers.

 

Cristiano gazed at his back heatedly as he left, eyes shifting down Leo’s visibly pale back that the thin, damp, white button up stuck too.

 

Leo chose the stall furthest from the entrance to the lockers, not wanting to listen to anything they said and just wanting some time to himself for a moment as he stepped out of the rest of his clothes, dropping his boxers on top the other soaking clothes and kicking them off to the side. 

 

He pressed his head against the wall with shut eyes as the scorching hot water rained on him, the sound of it falling over his ears and blocking out anything else that tried to be heard. 

 

He honestly hoped James’ first day went way better than his did.

 

It was only when his fingers had started to wrinkle and his skin had flush a certain shade of red from the temperature of the water did Leo finally shut it off, wrapping the towel Cris gave him tightly around his waist. He passes the many stalls of shower heads as he slips out of the door, eyes filtering around the dressing room curiously.

 

The only ones still there were Isco, Marcelo, and Toni.

 

Leo looks around and frowns. “Where’s my suitcase?”

 

Marcelo looks up at him from where he’s on his phone, surprised. “Oh, Cris took it with him. He’s waiting in the car.”

 

Leo scowled. “And what does he expect me to wear?”

 

Marcelo pauses for a moment, contemplative. “Oh shit. Didn’t think about that. Just take something from his locker. He’s got stuff in there.”

 

Leo stared blankly at Marcelo, not liking the idea of going through the Portuguese’s locker in general, let alone without his permission. “No.”

 

Marcelo rolls his eyes. “It’s no big deal. Here.” Marcelo walks over and opening the number seven locker easily, pulling out some random clothes and tossing them over that Leo catches.

 

Leo returns to the shower to change, not comfortable around anyone of them.

 

He stares with distain at the Cr7 branded elastic of the boxers clenched tightly around his waist before stepping into a pair of sweats that he needs to tighten to sit on his hips good enough for them not to slip off. Then he throws the black t-shirt on and lets out a loud snort of a laugh when the sleeve falls over his shoulder. He pulls his arm up to push it back up, but the moment he lowers his arm, it falls off his shoulder once again.

 

He steps out with a stumble, tripping slightly over the bottom of the sweats. Isco looks at him and bursts out laughing. “Oh God! You look like a little kid!”

 

Leo gives him an unamused look. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

 

Leo rolls up the bottoms so they ended right at the bottom of his ankles and slips into a pair of Adidas sandals sitting in Cristiano’s cubby. 

 

“Hey Leo, I just wanted to apologize for today. It was... a huge fuck up, to say the least.” Marcelo tells him honestly. 

 

“It’s fine Marcelo.” Leo sighs, tired. “I just want to go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

 

”Yeah, Okay. See you tomorrow. Cris is outside in the parking lot.” Marcelo waves him goodbye.

 

Leo leaves the room, letting out a relieved sigh. He quickly makes his way outside, and he isn’t surprised to see Cristiano leaning against his grey Porsche, sunglasses on and lips pressed in a firm and grim line. His arms are crossed and despite being covered, Leo can feel the older man glaring at him as he approaches.

 

”Are those my fucking clothes?” He scowls. Leo grins wickedly. “Yup. You took my suitcase so I took your clothes.” 

 

Cris stares at him for a moment before he turns. “Get in. I want to go home.”

 

 Leo walks over to the other side, opening the door and slipping in.

 

He buckles his seatbelt on and glances over at Cristiano, only surprised to see large and bright brown eyes staring unwaveringly back at him.

 

”Um...?” Leo blinks, cheeks turning a soft pink. “Yes?”

 

Cristiano turns back forward, staring out the windshield while his hands grip the steering wheel. “Nothing.” He scoffs to himself, pulling out of the parking lot.

 

Leo looks out the window, watching the multiple buildings and greenery of Madrid pass by with a heavy heart of the unfamiliarity of it all, missing his Barcelona already.

 

Cristiano doesn’t spare him any more glances, eyes cloudy as if he’s thinking about things of his own as they approach a large white mansion. Leo observes. He’s seen pictures of the Portuguese’s house before, where it sits on yards and yards of bright green freshly cut grass, the entire area surrounded by tall shrubs and bushes to offer privacy despite being mostly isolated from any other home in the area. 

 

They pull up and into a garage filled with other expensive and shiny cars with names that Leo isn’t completely sure of. Cristiano doesn’t wait for him as he gets out of the car and walks out of the garage silently and up the steps to the door of his house. Leo is quick to follow him, grabbing his suitcase from the back and jogging up to where Cristiano was entering the house, not bothering to shut it.

 

Leo shuts it for him as he comes in, setting his bag by the large stairs. He takes in his surroundings. The entire place is furnished and decorated in a black and white design, looking slick.

 

God, it’s like Ronaldo took Real Madrid and put it into his house. Sleek, clean, and structured. 

 

“Oi! Messi!” Cristiano snaps from a few feet in front of him, down the opposite side of the hallway. Leo blinks questioningly at him. 

 

“Are you hungry?” 

 

Leo frowns. “Huh?”

 

”Do you need to ingest solid substances for your body to absorb so you live?”

 

Leo scowls. “What kind of fucking...?”

 

”You always only understand when it’s complicated.” Cristiano rolls his eyes, then looking impatient. “Food? Yes?” 

 

Just then Leo’s stomach growls loudly, and the Argentine flushes an embarrassed pink.

 

Cristiano looks unfazed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” And then he leaves the room.

 

Leo stood in the middle of the hallway for a moment, confused on what he should do.

 

When he goes back to where he had put his suitcase down, it wasn’t there anymore.

 

Leo climbs up the stairs, uncaring of where it could’ve gone. The first room he opens the door to ends up being a trophy room, where in the center three glittering ballon d’ors sit in shining glory. Leo thinks back to his own five back at home and leaves the room just as quickly as he went in.

 

The next room he tries ends up being a large game room with a pool table and couches with a tv that has a ps4 connected to it, many fifa and pes games sitting on top of it, remote controls on a coffee table. Leo is surprised Cristiano even bothered to buy the ones with him on the cover, the red and blue Barcelona Jersey hard to miss in the room.

 

The third room is large, with a closet to the right of the door and a bed on the left. Another door to where Leo assumes is the bathroom is on the other side across the bed. A large wall sized window shows the entirety of Madrid, the setting sun over the city gorgeous. A door leads to a large balcony that perimeters the whole house with a comfy looking swinging chair that could fit three people resting there. What surprises Leo is that his suitcase is sitting next to the bed with a note.

 

_**Blauranga,** _

 

_**This is your room.** _

 

_**— Cris** _

 

Leo rolls his eyes with a scowl as he reads it. He could’ve just told him that instead of sending Leo on a fucking scavenger hunt. Leo furrows his brows in confusion when he noticed writing on the back, flipping the note over.

 

**_P.S,_ **

 

**_Sandwich._**

 

 _What_? Leo thinks, looking up. Just then something is thrown at him and Leo ducks fast to avoid being hit, watching with a bewildered expression as the saran-wrapped sandwich lands on the bed with a bounce.

 

He whips his head to the side to stare incredulously at Cristiano who quickly leaves the room, shutting the door after him without saying a word.

 

”Weirdo...” Leo mutters to himself, sitting down on the bed and grabbing the sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

 

He looks out the window, watching a heat filled sun and is surprised of how late it had actually become. He eyes the swing chair longingly. As tempting as it is, Leo is as tired as the dead and just wants to sleep into the next year. So he finishes up his sandwhich, rummages for his toothbrush in his suitcase. He’ll unpack some time tomorrow. 

 

After brushing his his teeth and washing his face in Cristiano’s lavishingly expensive looking guest bathroom, Leo practically falls onto the bed, pulling the blanket up over his mouth and nuzzling into it. The minute his head hits the pillow, he’s knocked out. The last thing he sees are fuzzy red numbers that read **2:48 pm** and he knows he shouldn’t be sleeping at this time, messing up his sleeping schedule.

 

He passes out anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

_**B A R C E L O N A** _

 

_**El Prat de Llobregat Airport; Barcelona, Spain 10:46 am** _

 

”Wake up.” Rafinha’s voice suddenly hisses loudly and Neymar feels something hit his forehead hard, a throbbing sensation spreading around the side of his head. 

 

Neymar blinks blearily. “Oh shit— are we here?”

 

Rafinha, to his enjoyment, is not impressed with Neymar’s answer. He instead turns to look around, his baseball cap covering most his hair and sunglasses blocking out the hue of his dark coffee colored eyes in an effort to stay unnoticeable. His hands are buried in the pockets of his blue hoodie while his leg jumps underneath his grey sweats as his foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor. 

 

Neymar himself adorned a similar attire although not pleased with it. It took nearly an hour and a smack to the face from Dani and Rafa both respectively for him to not strut out of his house wearing a vibrant printed shirt and black and white pants with a chain, bright red shoes, and a spiked backpack that looked like it would fit a four year old child. 

 

So instead, he’s wearing a boring pair of dark washed jeans with a plain black hoodie, a simple maroon cap and black sunglasses covering his hazel eyes. 

 

Andres sits next to Neymar with his own blue cap and black sunglasses, similarly plain clothing. His facial expression is smoothed out with a nature of calmness, having all the patience in the world as his relaxed shoulders press against the uncomfortably hard plastic chair. His navy t-shirt is loose along with his black joggers but he seems uncaring as he gently caresses the back of his phone case with his thumbs, almost in a fidget but not quite so due to how peaceful he rested in his seat.

 

He seems serene with simply watching the others in the airport bypass him in a hurry to get to their own places, as if watching other people live their lives was the most interesting thing in the world.

 

”We have been here for about an hour now, Ney.” Andres replies calmly, no malice in his voice towards the Brazilian. However, Rafa throws his fellow countryman a dirty look, a glint in his eyes as he scowls. “You’ve asked that question six times in the past hour of us being here.” He snaps. “And stop falling asleep! This is the fifth time I’ve woken you up.”

 

“Man, I can’t help it. I do _not_ wake up this early unless I have to.” Neymar snorts, sitting up and wincing slightly at the kink in his neck that showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. His leg was thrown over the arm of one chair, the other falling over to the floor limp. His left arm was thrown over the back of the chair along with his head which is probably why his neck hurt so much. His other arm was thrown over the other arm of his chair. _Peculiar position_. He notes.

 

His white sign laid untouched on the floor.

 

”Remind me once again why all three of us had to wear hats and sunglasses?” Andres questions, looking to Rafinha for an answer but Neymar jumps to reply before the other can.

 

”So we look badass.”

 

“What? No! Shut the fuck up. It’s because we can’t be spotted. We wanna be as inconspicuous as possible.” Rafa shot down.

 

Neymar’s brows furrow in confusion. “See— I don’t know what that word means so I’m going to ignore you.”

 

”No attracting attention to ourselves dumbass. It’ll be a stampede.” Rafa shivers at the thought.

 

”Okay— Then remind _me_ why I had to attend this cult welcoming again?” Neymar sat up, turning his neck and letting out a pleased hum when his neck cracked, the muscles there losing their tension a bit.

 

”Because usually it’s Leo and Sergio with me. But Sergio is still injured and Leo is...” Andres trails off.

 

”In Madrid.” Neymar answers for him simply.

 

” _Going_ to Madrid.” Rafa corrects. “His flight probably didn’t land yet.”

 

”Nope, he’s there.” Neymar says, so sure of himself. “Been there since seven. He’s still at the airport.”

 

”What?” Andres turns to him sharply. “Where’s the people to pick him up?”

 

Neymar smiles sarcastically, something cold about it. “I don’t know. Ask Ramos.”

 

“I’ll text him—“ Andres began to mutter, pulling out his phone but Neymar stops him. “Don’t bother. Leo texted me just five minutes ago. He took a cab.” 

 

Andres sighs, leaning back tiredly. 

 

“Did you tell Geri?” Rafa asks curiously, chewing pensively on the inside of his cheek.

 

Neymar snorts a loud laugh. “Nope! Are you insane? He’d fly down to Madrid and burn down the Bernabeu with all the players inside— starting with Ramos.”

 

”Hopefully Leo doesn’t tell him.” Andres mutters, rubbing his arm. “My heart can’t deal with another Twitter war. Especially now that Xavi and Iker are gone.”

 

“Please. We all know Leo isn’t going to say anything.” Neymar leans back, crossing his fingers around each other and resting his hand son his stomach. “But he’ll find out. It’s all over the media.” 

 

“What?” Rafa is now confused. With a huff, Neymar pulls his phone out and opens up the Twitter app, going to his search feed. He shows them the video of Leo talking to a driver only for the cab to swerve off, splashing the Argentine soaked with dirty street water. The two beside him get more annoyed as news reporters continued to peck at their desperately stray-like friend as he tries to ignore them. 

 

**Lionel Messi Stranded? Real Madrid No Where To Be Found.**

 

“What a bunch of bullshit.” Rafa mutters, scoffing as he looks away. Neymar raises an eyebrow. “You defending them?”

 

”No, but it’s obvious that they forgot.” Rafa snaps. “They’re making it so much more dramatic than it needed to be.”

 

”I don't know...” Neymar murmurs, looking at the screen intensely before closing it and stuffing the phone back in his pocket. He didn’t trust Madrid. He’s witnessed and experienced first hand the carelessness of Pepe and Sergio on the field while defending— especially towards Leo. Even with Marcelo. They were the closest of friends in Brazil, but here in Spain, everything changed. And sometimes his teammates didn’t tell him things. But there’s a difference between acting stupid and being stupid and no one knew that thin line better than he did.

 

”You aren’t serious, Ney. Do you really believe that they’d leave Leo like that all alone in Madrid on purpose?” Rafa asks in absolute disbelief, shaking his head a little.

 

”I’m just _saying_ ,” Neymar stresses. “That I wouldn’t be surprised. _If_ they did. They’ve gave me more than enough reasons not to believe they wouldn’t.”

 

”That’s low even for Pepe, dude.” Rafa shakes his head, disagreeing. 

 

Andres chooses it to be best to simply not comment on the topic, keeping his own thoughts to himself. 

 

“By the way, who’s James Rodriguez?” Neymar asks innocently, looking a bit sheepish. Rafa reaches over and slaps Neymar at the back of his head roughly. Neymar scowls, rubbing the area before whipping back and reaching out to attack before he’s stopped.

 

“ _Enough_ , you two.” Andres snaps, throwing them both glares that the Brazilians feel but don’t see due to the dark lenses of the sunglasses he wore. “Behave.”

 

”Neymar’s just stupid!” Rafa exclaims. “James Rodriguez? You’ve played against him before in Barcelona and Brazil.”

 

Neymar’s brows shot up in surprise. “Really? Honestly, you can’t blame me. You know I don’t really care about the others. My mind only remembers a selective few.” 

 

“He’s—“ Rafa began only to be cut off abruptly by Andres shooting up out of his seat. 

 

“Right there. James!” Andres calls, waving a hand.

 

”I’ll go get him.” Rafa stood, about to walk when—

 

”JAMES!” Neymar screams loudly.

 

Rafa jumps at the annoyingly loud screech and turns with horror in his eyes to see Neymar now standing on top of the chair, waving his sign frantically that read **JAMES RODRIGUEZ FROM MADRID**. Curious eyes look up to the Brazilian and Andres face palms as they begin to gather a crowd of staring people.

 

“Ney! You moron!” Rafinha hissed, grabbing the man’s sleeve and trying to force him to get off the chair. “Get down from there! What the fuck does being discreet mean to you, dumbass!?”

 

Neymar ignores, an evil grin growing on his face as he opens his mouth again, eyes flickering around curiously to see where this ‘James’ fellow was. “JAMES—“

 

 Rafa slapped a hand over his mouth, cutting the screech off short. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” He promises, a murderous look in his eyes that Neymar can see through the lens. In the process, Neymar accidentally drops his sign.

 

”What? I’m just quickening the process.” Neymar defends with a shrug, grinning when he noticed that in the effort to shut him up, Rafa was now standing on a chair as well. 

 

“Quickening the process my ass— do you want to be attacked by a mob of fans?” His friend demanded.

 

Neymar winced. “Well no—“

 

”Then what the hell are you doing standing on a fucking chair and screaming James for!?” Rafinha shouted attracting more people.

 

“You two stop,” Andres hisses, looking panically at the crowd of people they were getting. “People are going to figure us out!” The two ignore him anyway.

 

“Rafa, you’re standing on a chair screaming too, though.” Neymar defends himself.

 

”Dont turn this on me!” Rafa grabs the collar of Neymar’s hoodie, shaking him slightly in a threatening manner. 

 

All of a sudden, Neymar notices someone pick up his sign and look at it, back turned towards him. “Hey— chubby cheeks! Give me back my poster!” He snaps, attention now focused on the supposed thief.

 

”Forget the fucking poster! The thing didn’t even cost you a dollar!” Rafinha states angrily.

 

”Hell no. Dollar or not! That was _my_ dollar!” Neymar retorts, turning back and throwing a crumpled up pamphlet to the man, watching it hit the back of his head. “Did you hear me, sloth ears?” 

 

When the man turns Neymar feels like slapping himself in the face. Because there stood James Rodriguez, an evident red flush in his cheeks, gaze of embarrassment glinting in his eyes as he quietly held the sign out to Neymar with genuine remorse. “Sorry.”

 

”Holy fuck— _Colombian_ James?” Neymar hisses to himself.

 

Rafa grabs his neck as if to strangle him but all of a sudden Iniesta is jumping on the chair next to Rafa pulling his hands off Ney’s neck.

 

”THAT. IS. _ENOUGH_!” Andres shouted.

 

The airport quiets.

 

James stares in shock and worry.

 

”Hey— That’s Iniesta!” A giddy boy suddenly exclaims, running towards them and jumping excitedly. “Iniesta! Photo?”

 

”Iniesta? That’s Neymar!” Another days happily. “And Rafinha!”

 

The three Barça players freeze from where they’re standing on the chairs.

 

“Ah fuck.” Neymar mumbles.

 

Suddenly they’re bombarded by people and Rafa is quick to shove his sunglasses and hat on James, not wanting even more of an issue by making his presence known.

 

There are hands grabbing at Neymar’s clothes and limbs, dragging him down into the sea of fans, and he screams loudly. 

 

“I say we let him drown and die down there. What do you say?” Rafa shouted to the other midfielder over the excited cheering and calling by the yards long group of people surrounding them.

 

”STAMPEDE!” Neymar screams, reaching out for Rafinha hopelessly. Rafa takes mercy on him and grabs his arms, yanking him out of the grabby crowd.

 

”Excuse me— you three are causing a public disturbance.” A security guard deadpans into a loud speakerphone.

 

James face palms.

 

~

 

After taking photos with the guard in exchage for safe passage way out of the hectic airport, the four of them took a moment to breathe as they sat in Andres’ car.

 

Neymar threw a glance over at James who had taken Rafa’s sunglasses off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The two of them had taken refuge in the backseat while Andres took the drivers and Rafa the passenger’s. 

 

Neymar couldn’t stop his eyes from going to James. Because sure— he didn’t know who Rodriguez was at the time, but he _definitely_ knew James.

 

_The whistle is blown for a second time and Neymar almost doesn’t hear it over the ringing of his own ears, blinded by a burning red anger filled with frustration and disappointment. The taste of the defeat is bitter on his tongue, curses and shouts itching to be released out in a frantic murmur yet he remains particularly silent for the most part as Murillo comes close into his face threateningly._

 

_Neymar, as usual, deflects the Colombian’s furious words towards him, simply head butting the players face away from his own as warning to back away before he completely exploded and fought back. And it didn’t take a lot to get Neymar to spill over that boiling point either._

 

_This was his defense. His anger was not forgotten. It never would be. Not when the constant overlapping fear of being so badly injured that his life would succumb to nothing more than dreaming of what could’ve been— of what would be simply an unreachable goal. No— He wouldn’t stand for it. Not for a second. It was too often of an occurrence and if they thought he’d let it slide for a second time, they’d been wrong._

 

_His own screams back in that stadium, back in Brazil, feeling his entire world crumbling before him— turning into nothing more than the tiniest grains of sand brushing away with the wind. They echoed in his head at that moment and he could hear nothing else. Could see nothing else than Marcelo kneeling over him horrified as they tried to put him on the stretcher without hurting him any further. And as they carried him out of the field, thousands of fans dressed in yellow and green standing in shocked disbelief while clapping, he knew, his World Cup dream was over._

 

_All because of the carelessness of a Colombian defender, one that wanted nothing more than to get him hurt. To get him out of the match so badly that he ended up taking him out of the tournament all together. People like that scared Neymar beyond belief._

 

_And to think, that they honestly believed Neymar would let him try again here in the Copa was just shocking. And nothing pleases Neymar more than kicking that ball against the other’s back. Too many fouls. There were just too many being let off the hook._

_And he was sick of it._

 

_He didn’t even feel the shove of the other Colombian player as curses in heavy, angry Spanish flooded his hearing and dulled out the ringing until it was gone suddenly. He stumbled after being pushed, firm hands gripping his shoulders as his lanky form thumped softly into a yellow jersey clad chest._

 

_Suddenly there were soft hands on his cheeks, pulling his gaze away from the large mass of blue and yellow arguing. Instead, he’s met with kind brown eyes of sympathy, the babyish face of the man completely sincere as he stood like a protective wall between Neymar and the others. “Neymar, what’re you doing?”_

 

_His voice is soft, Neymar realizes. Everything about him was soft, he concludes. The question is heavy in his mind, crushing out all other thoughts. He blinks at the Colombian man. “What?” He asks dumbly._

 

_“What are you doing?” He repeats, no malice present in his voice. Neymar frowns, anger and annoyance seeping through his skin again. “Fucking Zuniga—“_

 

_”Shh.” He cuts off immediately, frowning. Neymar watches his features curiously. The pink lips turn downwards in a tight, grim line. Over his rosy cheeks are a scatter of freckles that he’d just noticed._

 

_“You have a god given talent, Neymar.” He states honestly, leaning in to breathe the words into his ear, hyper aware of the nosey cameras surrounding them as a hand slipped off his cheek to curl around his shoulders. They began walking away from the other players and towards the exits._

 

_“Don’t waste it,” he murmurs, cool minty breath against Neymar’s skin sending shivers down his spine. He can almost feel the other’s soft lips ghosting gently over the skin of his ear, causing his cheeks to heat up and his heart to race. “Please— You’re better than this. God gave you a gift. Don’t throw it away.”_

 

_Then the touch was gone, replaced by the rough hands of Dani pulling him towards the exits. “Kiddo, I told you to leave the fighting to me, eh?” The older defender grins madly. Neymar blinked at him in slight dazed confusion as they began going down the steps._

 

_Dani stares at him, amused. “My little boy’s all grown up... you look flushed though Ney baby. What’s wrong little bro?”_

 

_Neymar turns to look over his shoulder. The Colombian player is walking off back towards the pitch that still contained a group of angry players, each step controlled and smooth, back towards the two._

 

_The last thing Neymar sees are the bold black letters **JAMES** over a yellow jersey before the pitch is out of his sight and the noise dulls down as they enter the tunnels. Neymar turns forward again, listening to Dani’s happy humming of a tune he didn’t know._

 

_”I shouldn’t have done that.” Neymar says suddenly and he can feel Dani peering at him. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He agrees. “You’re learning though, young apprentice. What made you realize?”_

 

_Neymar feels his heart skip a beat. “Just... some words, that’s all.”_

 

_Dani nods contemplatively. “Good for you. And who was this wise person? Were they wiser than me?”_

 

_Neymar throws him a dirty look. “Anyone on this planet is wiser than you.”_

 

_”Don’t deflect my question, kid.” He hums. “Can I get a name of this wiser than me person?”_

 

_Neymar runs a hand in his hair as he pulls his jersey off, starting at his name intently that’s printed on the back. “James.”_

 

”—Neymar!”

 

Neymar is startled awake from his daydream of memories, jumping slightly in his seat out of surprise as his gaze shifts away from the window towards the source of the loud voice only for his eyes to meet the annoyed face of Rafinha looking back at him impatiently.

 

Neymar blinks the daze out of his eyes as he furrows his brows in confusion. “Huh?”

 

”Apparently his hearing left along with his intelligence.” Rafa says sarcastically.

 

”Shut the fuck up Rafa.” Neymar snapped, all of a sudden very angry. He sees James turn to glance at him but can’t be bothered to care anymore.

 

Rafinha frowns then. “What’s got your panties in a twist all of a sudden?”

 

Neymar ignores, turning to look out the window once more. If he was being honest, he himself didn’t know what was wrong. He just got incredibly upset for some reason and he couldn’t pin point why his mood had shifted so terribly. 

 

“Bitch.” He hears the their Brazilian mutter under his breath as he turns to the front.

 

”Rafa,” Andres warns, throwing the man next to him a warning gaze. “Leave him alone.”

 

”I’m not the one who caused all this shit and then got pissed off and moody about it.” Rafa snapped and Neymar lunges forward, pushing Rafinha’s head with his hands violently. Rafinha grabs Neymar by the neck, starting to drag him forward into the front to attack but Andres is pushing him away while James quickly shoots up to wrap his arms tightly around Neymar’s chest, hugging his arms against his body and pulling him back into his seat.

 

”WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO!” Andres shouts. 

 

Neymar clenched his nads tightly around James’ arms that held him against the Colombian’s chest tightly. “I’m tired!” Neymar snapped. “Leo is god knows where in Madrid, James had the worst introduction ever, and Rafa has been a dick all day for no damn reason!”

 

”It really wasn’t _that_ bad.” James says weakly, voice small but he’s swiftly ignored.

 

“Are you kidding me Neymar!? You’ve been nothing but trouble ever since Dani and I came to your house this morning!” Rafa hisses back, eyes murderous.

 

“Maybe if you let me take my spikey backpack, none of this would’ve happened,” Neymar says smugly, mischievous persona back.

 

”You are not a four year old Ney! That thing is smaller than the phone you own!” Rafa huffs, slamming his hand angrily against the dashboard.

 

Neymar giggles almost. “Aw Rafa— why are you always so violent?”

 

”Why are you damn bipolar?”

 

Neymar shrugs. Or at least, he tries to. With James holding him so tightly, it was a bit difficult. At the realization that the Madrid player was in fact holding him, Neymar flushed a dark shade, tensing against him.

 

”Um... what did you mean? About Leo?” James suddenly asks carefully.

 

Neymar (reluctantly) pulls away to glance at him. “You didn’t hear?” His voice is soft, along with his gaze towards James who blinks back at him innocently in confusion. Neymar didn’t know why he had such a soft spot for James when they’ve only spoken for a max of three times in their entire careers. Maybe it had to do with the fact that James was so sweet and gentle with him, so genuine without a single judgement towards him that had Neymar treating the Colombian differently. He noticed that James was always first to console him whenever things went south on the pitch. Even that time his back got injured. Neymar didn’t understand why, but he appreciated it, and that was enough.

 

When James shakes his head Neymar sighs. “Your friends abandoned him at the airport.” 

 

James frowns in confusion, looking worried. “That can’t be possible.”

 

Neymar laughs breathlessly, no mirth present as he gazed at the man next to him with certain intensity, his hair falling in front of his eyes. “You never know James. Not everyone is as sweet as you are.”

 

Rafa snorts at Neymar’s words. “Fucking flirt.”

 

”Shut your annoying trap up Rafa. You couldn’t get yourself a night with anyone no matter how hard you tried.” Neymar smirks.

 

Rafinha looks like he wants to shoot a reply back, but Andres quickly turns the volume up on the radio to the point where it’s almost deafening, one hand pressed against his forehead like he has a headache as they continue to drive.

 

Neymar leans back, satisfied. When he turns, he sees James looking at him with pink cheeks but as soon as he’s caught, he turns and stares out the window. Neymar can’t contain the grin growing on his face.

 

Because damn, that man is adorable.

 

~

 

**_Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper; Barcelona, Spain 12:54 pm_ **

 

“Oh wow...” James murmurs to himself quietly, looking at the outer walls of the training grounds of the Esportiva in awe.

 

Neymar nudged Andres, wiggling his eyebrows with a cocky smirk that had the Spanish man scoffing at the Brazilian in disgust, shoving him away and patting James on the shoulder. “Come on James. All the other players wanted to meet you.”

 

Neymar and Rafinha trail after the two at a safe distance, all animosity between both Brazilians diminished.

 

”He’s really pretty.” Neymar says suddenly and Rafinha chokes on air. Oh my _god_ , Ney— ew.”

 

”What do you mean _ew_?” Neymar pouts. “Did you see his eyes? He reminds me of Poker.”

 

“He’s a _Madridsta_ Neymar! You horny piece of ugly chicken nugget.” 

 

“Woah. That was too far. I do _not_ look like a chicken nugget asshole.” He affirms, offended.

 

”True. But you’re stomach is full of ‘em.” Rafa snorts, poking his belly. Neymar slaps his hands away, shushing him. “Keep your voice down! There are ears everywhere.” He whispers harshly, looking around cautiously. “These health doctors are always on my ass about eating healthy.”

 

”Ha! I’m telling Rodrigo you said that,” the other mused. “Enjoy the kale salads for the rest of the season, buddy.”

 

Neymar elbowed him. “Besides,” he changes the topic back. “What’s so wrong with him being a Madridsta?”

 

Rafa gives him a pointed look, unconvinced. “You know exactly what’s wrong with that. End of discussion.”

 

Neymar shrugs. He was only messing around anyhow. James was cute and all, but Neymar wasn’t about to taint the man. Innocence like the Colombian was something that needed to be cherished and preserved, and Neymar, ashamedly enough to admit, can’t trust himself enough to do that for the other. Despite their few oddly meaningful conversations and Neymar melting and gushing over the Madrid midfielder’s blindingly gorgeous smile and personality, he just wasn’t the type of guy that would go for someone like Neymar, and the Brazilian was fine with that. People like James deserved better than a _hit it and quit_ _it_ anyway. 

 

“THE ENEMY IS HERE!” Geri screamed when he opened the door a bit more to see the four of them approaching, having been peaking through a slit at the door to catch the exact moment that they arrived. 

 

“How long have you been there for?” Neymar snorts, shoving the door opening and trudging in like he owned the place, hands in his pockets and sunglasses still on as he chewed on his gum casually. 

 

Rafa throws a pack of cookies at Marc, the German keeper obviously catching it and beaming at the German packaging. “Thanks Rafa!”

 

Rafinha makes a grunt of a reply, slumping down onto his side of the bench and twirling a plastic water bottle in his hand out of boredom. 

 

Neymar leans against the wall next to Dani who is messing around with Jordi and Adriano, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes James while Andres hushes everyone down.

 

“So this is James—“

 

”Rodriguez.” Geri chimes in. Andres gives him a look. “Yes— thank you, Geri, for the unnecessary comment.”

 

”So James, does Ronaldo really change his hair during half time?”

 

”Well—“

 

”I heard they do Initiations for new comers— is that true? How do they do it?”

 

”Huh?”

 

”Does Pepe have a rag doll of Leo that he just pricks with a needle whenever he needs to let his anger out?”

 

”What!?”

 

“Are you Colombian?”

 

”Yes—“

 

”Did you know Shakira is Colombian?”

 

”Of course. Everyone does—“

 

”So does she root for Spain or Colombia during the World Cup?”

 

”I don’t know? Shouldn’t you ask Pique that?”

 

“I’m not answering that.” Gerard states loudly, looking down at his phone.

 

James is looking around at everyone, obviously flustered. Neymar regards him with heated eyes, trailing over appreciatively. 

 

“Oh hell no kiddo.” A voice stops his eyes as they shift right to see Dani looking at him disapprovingly, eyebrow raised.

 

”What?” Neymar asks, offended.

 

”I know that look. You do that look when you want something.”

 

”I was just looking.” Neymar scoffs, getting annoyed with everyone warningly telling him off over everything he does.

 

”I hope looking is all you’re gonna end up doing. Keep that dick down.” Dani elbows him in the abdomen. Neymar winces But doesn’t shift much, glaring down at Dani. “Oh shut up, Dani. I’m not gonna do anything. Besides— he’s not my type anyway.”

 

”You can lie to yourself but not me. Don’t do it. He’s the enemy, kid.”

 

”No he’s not Dani. Can everyone stop acting like we’re in a fucking war with North Korea or some shit. It’s just Real Madrid.”

 

Dani shook his head with a wide grin. “Ah, you’re just too young.”

 

Neymar rolled his eyes turning back to the others.

 

”Alright here ya go, kid.” Geri begins, holding out a hat.

 

”Hey! I’m the kid on the team!” Neymar jokes to Gerard playfully, but James seems to take it seriously, eyes widening in a look of guilt. Neymar gives him a reassuring smile that relaxes the other a bit.

 

”Well, we’ve got two kiddos this week.” Geri shrugs, holding out the hat once again, pulling James’ eyes away from Neymar.

 

”What is this?” James asks curiously, looking down to see folded pieces of paper.

 

”Names. Of everyone on the team. You’re gonna pick who you stay with this week. It’s the fairest way for us to do it.” Geri explains. “Of course, unless— you have a preference of someone you’d rather stay with?”

 

Neymar swears he sees the other glance at him for a second before James shakes his head quickly, putting his hand in.

 

He pulls one out, handing to Geri like a child, facial expression kind. Geri almost gushes, wanting to hug him. James seemed huggable, the defender concludes.

 

When he unfolds it, Geri’s face scrunches up and he shows James with a weary expression. James however, looks surprised, a flush frowning on his cheeks and a sudden relief in his eyes.

 

”You sure?” Gerard asks incredulously. “You can change if you want.”

 

James shakes his head frantically, not liking the idea. Gerard shrugs, crumpling up the paper and throwing it at Neymar who is lost in his own thoughts as it hits him in the head. He catches it quickly before it can fall to the floor, throwing Gerard a dirty look.

 

“What!?” He snaps, unfolding the piece of paper to see his name scribbled on it in a messily pretty cursive.

 

”Congrats. You’ve got the responsibility of taking care of Madrid’s sweetheart Colombian for the week.” Geri says lazily.

 

Neymar blinks then glances at James who is so painstakingly obvious at avoiding his gaze.

 

”Wait— me?”

 

”Yeah, if anything, James will be taking care of your useless ass. So I apologize in advance for what you have to deal with.” Gerard says sympathetically, patting James’ shoulder.

 

”It’s fine. Not as bad as Leo—“

 

”James!” Neymar snaps.

 

James’ eyes widen as he realizes what he’s just said, slapping a hand against his mouth in horror.

 

Gerard's welcomingly kind smile freezes, then slowly drops. “What did you say?”

 

Neymar goes over, gently pulling James away. “Nothing—“

 

Gerard pulls his phone out quickly, typing frantically as his eyes shift tentatively over the illuminating screen.

 

”Gerard, please. Don’t make a scene—“ Andres began when he notices the Spanish defender’s shoulders become tense and eyes glowing with anger.

 

”What the hell is this?” He hisses, holding out his phone to show the picture of a drenched Leo outside the airport.

 

”It was a misunderstanding,” Rafa reassures slowly but Gerard isn’t having it. Going back to his phone with evident malice, scrolling. “Ramos... one hell of a new captain, huh?” He mutters angrily.

 

”Geri, please! You’ll make it worse for him! Leo doesn’t want you creating problems!” Neymar snaps, trying to pull the phone away from him but Gerard shoved him back. James is able to steady the Brazilian on his feet, a gentle hand on his waist but his expression is filled with overwhelming fear and worry.

 

Gerard clicks on a profile labeled **_SESE_** with a grinning devil emoji next to it, pressing call and bringing the phone to his ear.

 

”Gerard! Don’t you dare!” Andres threatens, reaching for the phone but the other man pushes his hand away.

 

Sergi and Marc stood then, walking over and trying to pull the phone away but the glare Gerard throws at them had them backing off.

 

”Geri, please don’t. Leo isn’t going to be happy with you.” Sergi whispers, looking saddened, almost like a kicked puppy.

 

”You are making it worse.” Marc joins.

 

Neymar shoves his face into his hands letting out a deep groan.

 

James turns to look at him worriedly. “I’m so sorry. I—... I forgot—“

 

Neymar puts a gentle hand against his back in reassurance. “Fine— It’s... It’s fine.” 

 

Geri perks up and Neymar realizes with dread that the other hothead has answered.

 

”What’s up, huh? You wanna be a little motherfucking bitch and leave Leo at the airport for hours? Really?” Geri is quick to jump to the point, not stalling the conversation.

 

A muffled voice is heard in a more calm manner that only makes Gerard angrier. “Really!? You think I’ll believe any of the shit that spews out of your mouth? Surprised you didn’t drive him into the middle of the fucking woods and left him there!” Geri snapped. 

 

Sergio’s voice is more annoyed now and Neymar can make out the words _accident_ and _fuck off_.

 

 _Oh jeez_.

 

”We’ve been nothing but nice about this! We were there on time for your fucking midfielder, we’ve been nothing but cordial with him and helping him through this so for you to sit there and act like a fucking saint that did nothing wrong by leaving Leo there like that, then you’ve got another thing coming, Sergio!” Gerard’s voice boomed thunderously loud, echoing in the now silent room.

 

“Gerard, knock it the fuck off.” Neymar says seriously, noticing James’ look of horror and guilt.

 

Sergio is shouting now over the phone, calling Geri rich for trying to act like the mature one now. “ _I make one mistake and your down my throat but I’m suppose to ignore all the ones you make constantly all year every year!?_ ”

 

“You left Leo, Sergio! You left him! And we’re not the ones the media is attacking, it’s  _you_! We’ve been so friendly with James while you’re all over there probably treating him like shit! That’s just not fucking fair!” Geri yells.

 

James covers his face in shame and Neymar yanks the phone out of Gerard’s hand, pulling it to his own ear. “It was an accident, we get it. Ignore Gerard, Ramos. But the next time any of you do that to Leo, we’re not gonna be sitting back. Now treat him with the same fucking respect we’re giving to your Colombian and this week will be over quicker than you think. Got it?” He hisses, not waiting for a reply before ending the call, shoving the phone into his pocket. 

 

He turns back to Gerard who is talking heatedly and furiously to Andres who tries to soothe him. “You,” he pointed to Gerard. “Need to calm the fuck down.”

 

”He left—“

 

”IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Neymar shouts, the room silences. Gerard glares at the floor but says nothing. “Everyone calm the fuck down, and no more contacting the Real Madrid players. Crazy asses... Dramatic assholes...” Neymar mutters angrily, shoving Geri’s phone back in his hand roughly and grabbing James’ duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “Let’s go James.”

 

James practically runs out of the room, pressed against Neymar’s left side as he walks out of the dressing room and down the hall. “I’m so sorry,” he rushes out, looking so guilty. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s all my fault— I didn’t realize... I—I, I just wasn’t thinking—“

 

”Calma!” Neymar exclaims, clasping his hand against the nape of James’ warm neck. “It’s ok. Forget it. He’ll get over it by tomorrow, promise. No need to beat yourself up over two idiots. Okay?”

 

James looks hesitant, but nods slowly. “Okay.” 

 

“Okay.” Neymar repeats, pleased. They walk out and Neymar puts the man’s bag in the backseat and walks over to the drivers seat, both clambering in.

 

They sit for a moment, James staring at Neymar who had both hands on the wheel loosely, his forehead pressed against the top and his eyes squeezed shut. 

 

“I really am sorry, Neymar.”

 

Neymar opens his eyes turning to James with narrowed eyes. “Seriously— stop apologizing to me. None of this is your fault. It was just another excuse for Geri to start an argument with Ramos over something to piss him off in the club season. Don’t take it personally.” 

 

James leans back, looking down at where he was fiddling with his fingers. “So,” James begins. “Why is Pique so... protective? I guess? — Of Leo, I mean.”

 

Neymar glances at the other man before putting his seatbelt on and slotting the key in the ignition, turning it and hearing he engine roar to life. “It’s a long story,” He admits. “But Leo and Geri... they go way back. La Masia— you know La Masia?”

 

”You can’t be a footballer if you don’t know about La Masia.” James throws him a small smile that Neymar grins at, pulling out of the parking lot.

 

”Well... Leo, Geri, and Cesc Fabregas?” Neymar questions and James nods, of course he knows Cesc. Neymar continues. “Those three have been friends since they were thirteen growing up at La Masia... 1987...” Neymar smiles widely. “They obviously dominated all their competitions, winning every single one. They were close friends... the closest you could be living in a building with hundreds of other kids without your family... especially Leo. Then Barcelona called up Leo for the first team and Cesc got called up to London, and Geri went to Manchester with Ronaldo for four years— I’m sure you know that story from that greasy hairball, though.”

 

James recalls Cristiano’s nagging of _why is Gerard so mean to me_ and _he wasn’t this mean when we were piggy backing each other down in England. Fake ass bitch._ It was all show though, James quickly realized. They’re was a certain softness and playfulness in the Portuguese’s eyes when he talked about Gerard Pique. One no one else could really understand other than the two of them. Even if Gerard made some jab comments at Cris, there was a story there that the two really weren’t content with sharing.

 

“All three of them had it pretty rough, I’ll admit. Being seperated like that and put into a team filled with people they didn’t know. Cesc adjusted the most. Then Geri had Ronaldo and a couple others that were going through the same issues he was with all the language barriers. Leo had it the worst, if I’m being honest. He was the youngest, you know? The newest member to the first team from La Masia. He said that a lot of the guys didn’t know how to approach him and he didn’t know how to approach them so they left him alone until Ronaldinho showed up and forced Leo to hang out with them more. He finally started getting comfortable with everyone. It was a miracle, really.” Neymar blabbers, but James listens tentatively, genuinely curious.

 

”Is that why Leo loves Dinho so much? I see a lot of press stuff on them from time to time.” James admits. Neymar nods. “Yeah. The one thing the press got right was Leo’s relationship with Dinho. He was probably the closest thing to a dad that Leo had at age seventeen. If it wasn’t for Dinho, Leo would’ve probably been the same quiet person in the team. But when I came, he made sure I wasn’t lonely and was always pulling to include me in things, to make sure I was never uncomfortable or lonely because he knows that feeing better than anyone else on the team. Something a lot of people oversee.” Neymar admits, voice quiet.

 

James sees the look in Neymar’s eyes, the recounting memories of his first moments at the club. He thinks back to his own first couple days in Madrid, his stuttering and awkward presence as he tried to hide in the crowd and keep to misled in his own little corner. He was the boywonder from the World Cup after all, he had something to prove here. But he kept his mouth shut, watched everyone talking and having fun during trainings and post-matches.

 

And then Cristiano was there, slapping him in the back of the head and asking him what he was doing as he pulled him over to where the group were celebrating a victory. James never denies the relief he felt. Cristiano kept seeking him out then, asking to practice together, sitting with him at the breakfast hall, on the plane, on the bus... until James wasn’t so excluded anymore. His stutter mostly left, he was laughing and messing around with Marcelo and he was always being attacked with hugs by Cristiano and not minding it the littlest bit.

 

He feels sad, then. He hasn’t seen Cristiano for a good three or four weeks. The Portuguese didn’t come back before James had left for Barcelona, and he was gone for a couple weeks to hangout with his family back in Portugal for his sister’s wedding. 

 

Words cannot describe the greatfulness he feels towards Cristiano Ronaldo, and he will defend the man to his very last breath. Truthfully, the outside world doesn’t really know Cristiano— not in the ways that count, the ways that matter. They don’t know the kindheartedness or the selfless man he was behind closed doors— hell, they didn’t even notice it in open doors. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Neymar’s voice cuts in.

 

”I miss Cris.” James says suddenly, the words blurted out before he had even processed that they had left his mouth. 

 

He turns with heated cheeks cheeks to see Neymar frowning down at the wheel. “Yeah.. I miss Leo...” he murmurs to himself, a weak smile growing on his face. James peers curiously, but doesn’t say anything.

 

Neymar smiles at him then. “But you know— I’m glad you’re here. I’ve always wanted to play with you, somehow.”

 

James flushes at that. “Yeah, me too...”

 

They stop at a red light and Neymar goes over the seat towards James who freezes when Neymar’s soft hair, dyed auburn at the tips, slightly grazes his face that flames a dark, warm shade of red.

 

It’s only when Neymar pulls back that James realizes to his own stupidity that the other man was simply grabbing the seatbelt he had forgotten to put on. Neymar clicks it in, turning back. “Safety first.”

 

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not a good driver?” James tries to joke, and Neymar smirks at him, shaking his head gently but his eyes don’t leave the road as they continue on. “Trust me— I’m the best. But you never know. Anything could happen.”

 

James doesn’t know why those words leave him so flustered. He turns to look out the window instead.

 

Neymar stops suddenly with a screeching halt that has James yelping, a hand flying up to his racing heart. He whips his head towards the Brazilian but the other man is looking out the window. “The best, you said?” James raises an eyebrow, still shaking slightly as the driver parks.

 

Neymar turns to him with the biggest grin possible. “Get out!”

 

James freezes. Was this really Barcelona’s revenge for what his teammates did to Leo back in Madrid? Neymar was going to abandon him on the side of the road in one of the most fiercely competitive cities with an equally ferocious fan base? He was as good as dead.

 

”Um... what?”

 

”Out— shoo. Get out right now.” Neymar unclicks his seatbelt for him, and James hesitantly opens the door and steps out into the Barcelona heat. He sullenly walks towards the back door, opening it and reaching for his suitcase.

 

”What the hell are you doing?” Neymar’s voice from next to him interrupts.

 

James turns to see Neymar standing close right behind him, sunglasses perched high on his nose as he watched curiously as James tries to pull his suitcase out.

 

”I’m... grabbing my suitcase?”

 

”Why?”

 

James blinks. “I thought...”

 

Neymar looks at him for a moment before he scowls. “I wasn’t going to leave you.” 

 

“Oh.” James stops. Neymar looks disappointed. “I’d never leave you. Not like that.”

 

James closes the door, feeling remorseful. “I apologize. What are we doing then?”

 

Neymar beams then. “We’re getting ice cream!”

 

James frowns. “I can’t eat ice cream. I’m on a strict diet plan—“

 

Neymar grabs his hand tightly, waving him off. “Nonsense. One little ice cream isn’t going to kill you.”

 

”But—“

 

“Not listening, Hammie.”

 

James smiles to himself, not realizing just how much he had missed hearing his friends call him that. It made him miss Marcelo, even if he had seen the Madridsta hours earlier before he had left.

 

”Live a little— It’s Barcelona. And what happens in Barcelona?”

 

James rolls his eyes. “Stays in Barcelona.”

 

“Correct. Now— favorite flavor?” Neymar asks it as he pulls him towards the shop, cutting through the busy Barcelona traffic like a pro, obviously having been done this before. James looks down at their hands and feels like maybe he shouldn’t be walking down to an ice cream store in the heart of Barcelona out in the open, while holding hands with Neymar Jr.

 

Okay— they weren’t _holding_ hands, Neymar was just directing him, because there were a lot of people out in this street. Or at least that’s the only logical thing James can come up with.

 

Let’s be honest, if Neymar hadn’t grabbed his hand, James would be as good as gone by now.

 

“Neymar, why are there so many people? Is there a parade?” James asks quietly in his ear as he feels people brush by him.

 

Neymar laughs a light hearted laugh. “Oh Hammie. If there was a parade, we wouldn’t even be able to see each other. Get used to this for the week— it’s Barcelona’s everyday crowd.”

 

James pouts looking around. “Madrid isn’t usually this crowded.”

 

”Madrid is a lot of things,” Neymar suddenly says with a underlying dryness, bitterness to it. “A people’s city— it’s not.”

 

James feels offended. Not as offended as maybe Sergio or Cristiano would’ve been, but pretty close. “Come on— Madrid is a beautiful place to visit.”

 

”Also a place where their own players get whistled at and their legends get thrown to the wolves we call the press. But not bad, right?” Neymar scoffs sarcastically.

 

James narrows his eyes. “Okay— now you’re doing too much, Neymar. There’s problems in Barcelona too.”

 

”Our fans don’t whistle at us, James. We’re all connected from the Camp Nou to the hotdog stand down the street. That’s just something Madrid doesn’t have— will never have.”

 

”Oh please— your fans are too dependent on Leo and some of the tactics you guys like to use.”

 

”James—“

 

”No, why the fuck do you guys have to drag Madrid into everything? Gerard does it, you do it, almost all your fans do it too! You guys praise yourselves as La Masia born protégées, but I haven’t seen a single La Masia grown be put into the first team since fucking _Roberto_! Like seriously? And you want to talk to me about Madrid’s problems?” He’s never been so furious, but he’s sick of all this drama with Barcelona and Real Madrid. He’s only been in Barcelona for a good three hours and this mess is giving him the biggest headache he’s ever had.

 

“Listen,” Neymar shushed, pulling him behind the shop into a little alleyway as to not be spotted, but James wasn’t listening, feeling the need to defend. He couldn’t just let Neymar or the rest of them trash talk the city he kisses the crest of each time he scores a goal, or his teammates who work so hard to please.

 

”It’s funny to me! Because honestly the minute you, Leo, and Andres are out of the team, it’s going down a hole and never coming out. Because the rest of the team doesn’t know how to do fuck all without Messi and Iniesta. Same way Argentina are complete shit without Messi. We don’t need to depend on Cristiano or Marcelo to win titles— that’s for damn sure!”

 

Neymar is smirking at him now and that makes him even more upset. “What are you laughing at now!?” 

 

“Nothing.. I just...” Neymar laughs covering his mouth. “I just can’t believe I finally broke the sweetheart Colombian.” 

 

James breathes heavily, blinking at the other in confusion. “Wha... What?”

 

”Jesus— I thought you were gonna punch me in the face for a moment there. I’m sorry. Rafa said that you were too nice to say anything to any of us if we talked shit about Madrid. I told him I could make you snap, and it worked.”

 

James really feels like slapping him now. “So.. So you did all that to make me.. yell at you?” Neymar nods meekly.

 

”I... All of you are fucking weirdos.”

 

Neymar chuckles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders tightly and pulling him out of the alleyway and towards the entrance of the ice cream shop with a sigh of discontent. “Trust me— we get that a lot.”

 

~

 

**_Neymar House; Barcelona, Spain 2:48 pm_**

 

James struggles to hold both cups of mint chocolate chip and double chocolate chip ice creams as he somehow manages to open his door and step out. “I got your bag, Hammie.” Neymar tells him, already pulling out the suitcase from the back. 

 

James stares appreciatively at the large intriquite dark wood colored home, a visible two or three story with a couple balconies and roofs.

 

”I, um... It’s a new house,” Neymar admits as they climbed up the steps, his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. “So I apologize in advance for the slight mess. I’ve wanted a house by the sea for a while now though— ever since I came to Barcelona, actually. I mean, my house— um, the old one— was nice. It was by Geri and Shak and was also a pretty good distance from the Camp Nou. It was a nice neighborhood. Quiet. But, I really just wanted something closer to the sea but wasn’t really able to get it until about a couple months ago. The renovations are all mostly done, but, uh, some of my stuff is still in a disarray. There’s still a good handful of boxes too. Oh— the guest room is kinda crowded and the others aren’t completely finished yet so you can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch. I promise I’ll have the room cleaned for you by tomorrow.” Neymar rambled in a nervous fit, his hands shaking as he tried to slid the key in, ending up dropping it instead and letting out a whine of frustration.

 

”Neymar,” James says in a soft voice, stopping the other with his elbow gently. He knows anxiety when he sees it, and Neymar is full of it right now. “It’s ok. I like it. It’s a very pretty house. I wish Madrid was near lakes and oceans, but sadly there aren’t a lot.”

 

Neymar still looks a little frustrated, fingers clenching with each other, still shaking. “I-I’m sorry. I usually just... randomly...” he trails off.

 

“I get it.” James reassured as he handed Neymar the ice creams, picking up the keys and putting it in, turning it and pushing the door open for him. “Anxiety’s a bitch,” he mutters to himself, Neymar not listening.

 

All of a sudden there’s loud and excited barking and Neymar freezes. “Shit—“

 

James barely has time to look away from the Brazilian to the entrance before he’s pushed to the ground by something fluffy and slightly heavy.

 

His mind needs a minute to register, but when it does he almost screams.

 

”YOU HAVE A DOG!?” James exclaims loudly, hugging the dog to mid chest protectively, the dog wagging its tail happily at the attention.

 

”Three, actually.” Neymar admits. “All Golden Retrievers.”

 

Just as he says that, two more quieter barks were heard and two puppies came running over, fighting with each other a bit. They brush against Neymar’s leg and the Brazilian picks one up gently. “Oh my god, I’m going to cry.” James coos in happiness.

 

Neymar looks alarmed then. “You aren’t allergic, right!?”

 

”No! I have two dogs back in Madrid. A British Bulldog, Maluma. And a Cocker Spaniel, Stella.”

 

The other comes over to James, grabbing onto his leg and peering up at him curiously.

 

”Nice. The big one is Poker. He’s been with me since I first came to Barcelona. The adventurous little one on your leg is Truco. And this shy little guy is Flush.” Neymar holds out the puppy who tries to hide away from James into the Brazilian’s hands. “He’ll open up to ya, promise. I’ve only had the puppies for a few months now, actually. But I love them to death.”

 

”They’re adorable.” James tells him honestly. He suddenly hears low growling and looks over to see a dark mass hiding behind one of the walls, head poking out. “Uh... What’s that?”

 

Neymar turns sharply as if he knows exactly what James is talking about and scowls. “That, is Zelda. Otherwise known as, the pain in my ass.”

 

When James gives him a confused look Neymar corrects himself. “He’s Leo’s French Mastiff. And he’s the most untamed monster I’ve ever had to deal with. Leo thinks he’s cute. But he’s a spawn of Satan.” Neymar shudders. “Zelda! Ven aca!”

 

The small brown puppy snarls and barks loudly, turning away with his tail pointed upwards.

 

Neymar sneers. “Little shit...”

 

”He reminds me of Cristiano.” James giggles.

 

”That’s what I said! I told Leo he should name him Ronaldo because that puppy hates all of us except for Leo.” Neymar defends when James gives him a disapproving look. 

 

“Hey— don’t look at me like that. Isco named his dog Messi.” Neymar snorts. “Nope, we aren’t going there.” James shakes his head firmly.

 

”Right. I forgot how hard life must be after naming your dog after the most famous footballer that happens to be the arch rival of the city you live in. My bad.” Neymar laughs evilly. 

 

James rolls his eyes. “Why name him Zelda? Does Leo like the game, or something?”

 

Neymar hesitates then, a pensive look on his face. “Well... his name isn’t _really_ Zelda.”

 

James stares at him. “What?”

 

”I just _call_ him Zelda. Leo doesn’t know what to name him. We’ve been giving him options but he just doesn’t like them.” 

 

James bites back a laugh. “You guys are struggling to name Messi’s dog?”

 

”I wanted to name him Ronaldo but Leo yells at me every time I do so I call him Zelda because that’s the second best I could come up with.” Neymar shrugs.

 

”He yells at you!?” James openly laughs now. Neymar pouts. “Yeah! Because the devil dog started getting so used to the name Ronaldo and Leo almost murdered me because he thought he’d have to call him Ronaldo for the rest of his life. Don’t tell that Portuguese diva though.” Neymar warns. “No worries. Your secret’s safe with me.” He laughs.

 

 When James stood, Poker paws around him before going to Neymar and rubbing his face against his leg lovingly and Neymar reaches down to scratch his head. “Yup. My home has officially become a dog shelter.”

 

”I don’t mind at all.”

 

Neymar directs him towards the main living room, and as soon as James sits on the couch, Truco is jumping in his lap, paws pressed against James’ chest as he stares up at him with a grin, tongue out and tail wagging.

 

”He really likes you.” Neymar smiles.

 

James scratches the puppy behind its ears. “Hey, I can sleep on the couch Neymar. You shouldn’t have to be kicked out of your own room.”

 

Neymar shakes his head stubbornly. “No. You are my guest and my responsibility for the week. It’s just for a night, promise. I’ll have the room cleaned out for you before we get back tomorrow.”

 

James furrows his brows in confusion. “What’s tomorrow?”

 

Neymar grins, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Tomorrow’s your first day of training as a Cule, obviously!”

 

James’ face drops, tensing slightly. It’s not that he had a problem with Barça, really. He just wasn’t really comfortable training with such unfamiliar people.

 

Neymar must’ve noticed the weary look on his face because he sighs and ruffles James’ hair softly. “Don’t worry. The guys don’t mind you at all, and training with us is fun! I’m right next to you the entire time. You and I are together for the week, alright? So sorry in advance for that.” James smiles sweetly up at him.

 

He doesn’t know how to tell Neymar he doesn’t mind being with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 2,000 children of undocumented immigrants were separated from their parents and legal guardians at the US-Mexican Border in just 6 WEEKS due to a zero-tolerance policy created and inforced by the US Presidency Donald Trump administration.
> 
> Immigrants, who cannot afford legal entry, want better lives, tax paying, want their children to be successful and secure. 
> 
> As an American born Spaniard, this is absolutely disgusting to me. The horrors these children are facing and dealing with is psychologically damaging and how dare some people in this country justify ripping children as young as 5 away from their families and shove them into a child care home, in rooms meant for four that they fill with five?
> 
> These 2,000 children do not deserve it, the Muslims of peace do not deserve it, the people of color that spill the same blood don’t deserve it. 
> 
> My heart goes out to these children kept shoved away into a building awaiting their parents’ sentencing, forced into separation by the careless, heartless decisions of people that don’t understand what true struggles in life really are.
> 
> I am aware, and you should be too and I also hope this ignited a fire in you that had done so within me. 
> 
> These children deserve better. <3
> 
>  
> 
> (by the way— Spain vs Portugal? Killed me. One of the very few times I got annoyed with Cristiano lol. Free kick was amazing though! Also Messi, *sigh* that was a pretty disappointing game, you guys are better than that :( come on)
> 
> Also wtf is happening at the World Cup!? Spain and Portugal ties, Mexico won against Germany, Brazil ties with Switzerland, Argentina tie with Iceland, and Colombia loses to Japan!?!?!?
> 
> WHAT IS HAPPENING
> 
> tRiGgErEd
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and uh... Argentina have a situation...
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah....


	5. Chapter 5

_**D A Y   O N E   //   M A D R I D**_

 

_**Ronaldo House; Madrid, Spain 7:31 am** _

 

Leo is startled awake. He blinks blearily as he looks around in slight confusion, forgetting for a moment where he was. His mind is foggy, and he realizes that he had just faced another nightmare. The images are vaguely unclear, but he recognizes the navy blue jersey and the stadium filled with bright lights and people dressed in white and light blue. White jerseys are jumping on each other in a roaring cheer as a whistle is blown. A sign reads **1-0**.

 

However, this is not what wakes him up, he soon realizes upon noticing a looming figure by the doorway, body half in the room.

 

 _Cristiano_.

 

Leo’s lips part, and he shakily sits up. “W-What?” He winces at his own dazed voice, deep and groggy with sleep but also filled with confusion and something akin to fright. It sounds like he’s been crying, he notes with annoyance.

 

Cristiano stood at the doorway, walking all the way into the room with confidence now that Leo was awake. He has a weird beanie on his head and looks a little sleepy himself, as if he had just woken up too, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt that’s tight against his muscles, feet bare. His arms are crossed against his chest and his shoulders are drawn back as if he’s ready to pick a fight.

 

Leo peeks a look at the alarm clock to see it a good minute after half past seven. He turns back when Cristiano clears his throat.

 

”We have practice soon.”

 

Leo’s face scrunches up. “At _seven_?”

 

Cristiano snorts. “No. At nine thirty.” Leo stares at him dumbly. “Uh... it’s seven thirty though.”

 

”Yes.” Cristiano confirms. Leo still stares, not understanding. “I woke you up to get ready.” Cristiano then explains.

 

 _Who the hell needs two fucking hours to get ready for work_. Leo thinks, giving Cristiano an odd look. But the Portuguese has such a genuine look on his face, like he was doing the right thing so Leo gave a forced smile despite hating being awoken this early. “Practice at nine. I’ll remember that for tomorrow so you don’t have to wake me up. Thanks.”

 

Cristiano says no more, simply offering a curt nod and turning towards the door to leave before stopping. He seems to be contemplating something before he turns back, hesitant as he fiddles almost nervously with his fingers. “Uh... is everything— um, okay?”

 

Leo wouldn’t say that Cristiano looks worried, but he does look a tiny bit concerned.

 

“Yeah? I mean, I think so? Why?” Leo asks warily, eyes wondering over the Madrid player questioningly. 

 

“You... You were mumbling in your sleep when I came in.” Cristiano admits, frowning. “You sounded like you were apologizing for something.”

 

Leo doesn’t know what to do with that information. He lives alone, so this is the first time he’s been informed of any type of sleep talking. He was definitely aware of the occasional nightmares he got, but sleep talking was a whole different story. He knows he shouldn’t be offended that Cristiano overheard whatever it was that he was saying because the other man was simply trying to wake him up, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t make Leo uncomfortable. 

 

“Just some dumb dream, probably.” Leo lies smoothly. Cristiano doesn’t look like he believes him so Leo is quick to change the topic. “Did you just wake up too?”

 

Cristiano nods and Leo furrows his brows. “Well, why are you wearing a hat?”

 

That question suddenly brings a pink hue to Cristiano’s cheeks and Leo blinks when the other simply leaves, slamming the door after him.

 

”Okay, then...” Leo mutters to himself, confused as he pushes the covers off.

 

He pads into the bathroom and looks at himself, wincing. He looks like a mess. His hair is sticking in all the directions he doesn’t want it to go to, cheeks pink. His eyes are rimmed red, as if he’s been crying and he’s got such dark bags under them, like he hasn’t slept for days. He rubs his face in annoyance, turning the shower on and slipping out of his clothes before stepping under the warm spray.

 

He manages to wash his hair and skin in a good ten minutes. Usually it takes him a lot shorter, but considering how early Cristiano had woken him up, he can slow down his usual morning routine. 

 

He wraps his waist with a towel before brushing his teeth and washing his face, pleased that the red eyes have completely disappeared and his dark circles seemed to brighten a bit more than they were originally.

 

He dries off and slips into a pair of black boxers and some dark Adidas joggers and a black t-shirt, throwing a hoodie on over top.

 

 _Adidas must be having a field day_. He thinks with a snicker. He’s surprised the brand hasn’t approached him to do an ad with the Real Madrid jersey. The thought made him cringe. 

 

He grabs his phone, not bothering to check it. He really just doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. His hair is still a little wet but he combs it back anyway, not really caring as he slips into some shoes and out of his room. 

 

He buries his hands in his pockets as he walks silently down the large hallway. He doesn’t know where Cristiano’s room is, so he instead walks down the stairs and towards what looks like the living room. He sits down on the couch, waiting patiently and looking around in an attempt to get familiar with his surroundings.

 

He notices pictures of Cristiano with his family, instantly picking up on a large portrait picture of him with his mother, Dolores. Funnily enough, the Portuguese mother doesn’t really seem to like Leo, even though Leo hasn’t really done anything to Cristiano personally or intentionally. It’s not that she’s necessarily been mean to him, she just seems to have that look in her eyes and that tone in her voice that she really just doesn’t want anything to do with him. It wasn’t hard for Leo to pick up on the fact that she seemed to not really like him.

 

He doesn’t really blame her, if he’s being honest. He does blame the media, however. Because the way those idiotic news headlines and articles make Cristiano and Leo look, even made Leo’s mother upset at Cristiano. It took a lot of firm effort on Leo’s part to convince his mother that Cristiano has been nothing but completely professional and kind to him throughout their years whenever they met. He can’t imagine how his own portray from the media made Cristiano’s mom feel like. 

 

And yeah, maybe Cristiano had been a bit rude and mean when he found out that Leo was here for the week, but it’s not like Cristiano likes him. Respecting and liking were two totally different things, and honestly that day even made him snappish and angry. He had no reason to be offended by the fact that Cristiano wasn’t happy with him staying at his house, because they weren’t friends. And besides, so far the Portuguese has been nothing but carefully cordial with him, so he really just shouldn’t complain about it. It could be worse.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s drifting off as he curls up into the couch after toeing off his shoes, until he’s suddenly going under into a dark emptiness.

 

Leo is once again awoken, but this time to a more than necessary rough shake, lifting his head and blinking, alarmed.

 

Cristiano is looking down at him, not with irritation but rather impatience. “You’ve been asleep since three in the afternoon. How are you still this tired?”

 

If Cristiano had been someone else like Geri or Ney, Leo would’ve retorted with a sarcastic _Because you’re emotionally and mentally draining_ , _that’s why_. But Cristiano Ronaldo is neither Geri nor Ney, so he simply shrugs. Besides, had Cristiano been any of the Barcelona players, he’d know that Leo sleeps like a fucking bear, using any possible excuse to nap in between whatever shit he has to do.

 

“Seriously. I had to check on you like, three times to make sure you were still alive.” Cristiano informs him. “By the way, tried to wake you up to eat dinner, but you were like a damn rock.” Leo doesn’t really comprehend the last part, too busy being flattered by Cristiano caring if he was dead or not. He really appreciated it.

 

”I sleep a lot.”

 

”I figured.”

 

Cristiano turns, grabbing a training bag from the floor and throwing it over his shoulders as he twiddles a set of keys in his hand unconsciously. Leo stares at him for a moment, slipping into his shoes again. Cristiano’s hair is pulled up and out of his face with gel, like usual. He’s wearing tight dark washed jeans and a simple white t-shirt with a leather jacket thrown overtop, black Nike shoes adorned his feet that bounced impatiently against his wooden floors. 

 

Leo looks down, tying his laces and standing up, grabbing his phone from the coffee table in front of him and slipping it into his pocket.

 

”Your hair is a mess.” Cristiano grumbles, turning the living room lights off.

 

Leo runs a hand through his now dry hair with a shrug, not caring. He covers his mouth behind the top of his hoodie and buries his hands into his pockets, following Cristiano out the door.

 

“Do you just not care about anything?” 

 

Leo narrows his eyes at Cristiano as they walk towards the silver Porsche. “Only things that don’t matter.”

 

The other man rolls his eyes, unlocking the doors and slipping into the driver’s seat. “You have nice hair. The least you could do was comb through it.”

 

Leo is too annoyed to pay attention to the compliment as he ducks into the passenger seat, clicking in his seatbelt. “I did. Then I fell asleep.”

 

Cristiano whips out a comb from God knows where, handing it to Leo. Leo stares at him weirdly as he takes it, blindly brushing through his brown mop.

 

”Oh my god— come here.”

 

Cristiano frightens him when he snatches the hairbrush out of his hand and the other hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling him towards the taller man.

 

Leo is too embarrassed to find it in himself to look up at Cristiano, choosing to stare at the zipper of the Madridsta’s jacket instead. Cristiano isn’t rough as he runs the comb through his hair, rather gentle to Leo’s surprise. It felt nice. He could smell the slight distinction of an expensive cologne on the other as well, a very specific scent.

 

”There.” Cristiano mutters, letting go of him and leaning back into his seat. Leo sinks towards the door furthest from Cristiano, trying to hide his face as much as he could in his jacket as Cristiano starts the car and pulls out. 

 

~

 

_**Ciudad Real Madrid; Madrid, Spain 9:37 am** _

 

It’s not not a long drive from Cristiano’s house to the training grounds. Leo winces as he sees it, and Cristiano glances at him from the corner of his eye with a frown.

 

They drive through the gates and Cristiano parks, turning off the ignition. He doesn’t move to get out of the car though, so Leo awkwardly unclips his seatbelt, looking over. Cristiano is staring at him. 

 

“We have breakfast before practice here. Practice starts at ten thirty, so you have an hour to eat and change in the dressing rooms and come out to the first team’s training field. We stretch, run, circle passing, footwork, goal shooting, and end with a couple practice matches and a final stretch.” 

 

Leo doesn’t know how to tell Cristiano that they mostly do the same thing at Barcelona, so he just nods meekly. He wonders if Real Madrid are so uptight that they don’t play the games they do at Barcelona, but he chooses not to ask, not wanting to start a fight. He already knows he’s gonna miss playing header basketball and running tic tac toe for the week.

 

Cristiano says no more, stepping out of the car and grabbing his bag from the back. Leo follows pursuit, exiting the car. Cristiano strides off towards the entrance and Leo struggles to match the pace, steps behind as they enter the training grounds.

 

Cristiano stops to greet the man behind the desk with a small hug and Leo blinks, shaking the man’s hand when he smiled at him. 

 

“So should I—“ He began, but Cristiano is walking off again, like Leo was a dog chasing after his master and he hated it so much. Leo really just doesn’t know what to do, so he again follows Cristiano, definitely looking like a lost puppy.

 

They approach a familiar door and he also realizes this is the dressing room he was taken to yesterday. Cristiano enters and Leo has to push the door open for himself when it moves to close on him.

 

He’s about ready to start a fight with Ronaldo out of pure irritation, but notices something sitting on James’ bench.

 

He then ignores Cristiano completely, which wasn’t hard considering the other wasn’t really trying to talk to him anymore either. He walks over, picking up the material and unfolding it. A white Real Madrid training shirt stares back at him, a small number ten in the center and he drops it just as quickly as he’d picked it up.

 

”Oh hey, Leo.”

 

Leo turns to his left to see Toni Kroos beaming brightly at him. “Hello Toni.” He replies politely, offering a small smile in return. Cristiano is next to Toni, ignoring the pair as he rummages through his training bag.

 

”They brought your cleats in, by the way.” Toni nods to the shoes under the bench. Leo ducks down to pick up the cleats, relief filling his chest as he holds them to his chest protectively. They were the only thing here that reminded him of home. 

 

“Thanks.” Leo mutters, staring down at the black boots with the green and orangish red design, the colors giving him some form of comfort.

 

”No problem,” Toni stood, grabbing his phone and a water bottle before walking out and leaving Leo and Cristiano alone in the dressing room. Leo doesn’t care to even look at Cristiano if Cristiano couldn’t be bothered to talk to him. He just turns away, pulling his hoodie off silently and opening the locker to hang it in. He tries to ignore the other’s presence completely as he takes his shoes and socks off before shaking out of his joggers.

 

He reaches to grab the grey shorts when a loud slam is heard a few lockers away from him. He’s startled, turning to see Cristiano staring at him, a water bottle rolling away from him on the floor.

 

It’s awkward, so Leo opens his mouth. “Is your hobby dropping water bottles or something?”

 

Cristiano doesn’t reply, turning away but a pink starts to grow in his cheeks so Leo rolls his eyes and pulls the shorts on. He should just start praying that Cristiano would stop acting so weird for the rest of this week, but he shouldn’t have expectations for anything. Cristiano was fucking weird.

 

Leo yanks his t-shirt off next, letting out a curse as he holds the white material once again. Not good. He was already as pale as could be possible, and now he’d look like a piece of paper. He notices from the corner of his eye that Cristiano is openly staring at him now, and he scowls. Yes, he doesn’t have the same rock hard, tanned, and defined abs that Cristiano had, but he wasn’t that bad. Considering how everyone at Real Madrid looked like they belonged on Baywatch or some shit, no wonder Leo would be the weird looking one to them. 

 

“Excuse me for not looking like I’ve been on steroids,” Leo mumbles to himself, but Cristiano must’ve heard because he snorts. “I do not take steroids.”

 

”Oh, so _now_ you want to talk to me.” Leo snaps, dropping the shirt once more and turning to Cristiano with obvious anger.

 

Cristiano glances down at his bare front before looking back up at his eyes, shrugging and turning away. 

 

Leo contemplates punching him in the face, deciding it’d be a bad idea, and pulling his shirt on with a sound of displeasure when he sees the Real Madrid Crest pressed against his chest. He lets out another curse upon noticing that it was sleeveless, revealing more of his paleness to the world. He didn’t even think of bringing an undershirt, making a mental note for tomorrow. He looks down at his right arm, his tattoos being the only thing that stopped him from being a complete blank canvas.

 

”Damn.”

 

Leo looks over to see Cristiano staring with amazement at his arm and feels a flush growing on his cheeks. “What?”

 

”I’ve never seen your full sleeve.” Cristiano answers, still staring. “Christ?” He asks, nodding towards the tattoo on Leo’s shoulder.

 

”Yeah.” Leo replies, feeling himself relax a bit.

 

”Cool. Which one hurt the most?” Cristiano asks curiously and Leo is confused on why Cristiano is so damn bipolar, going to ignoring him to inquiring about his tattoos in a max of fifteen minutes. 

 

“The area on the inside of the my elbow.” He admits, rubbing the area at the memory. “Really?” Cristiano is surprised. “Not the calf? You have more there.” 

 

“You would think so. But there are a lot of nerves on the inner elbow. As soon as one’s touched, it sends pain throughout the entire arm, not just the pricked area. It was fine for me, though. I’m used to the pain.” Leo shrugged, grabbing the socks and pulling them up his leg to over the tattoos there.

 

”All of you are tattooed at Barcelona. All that needle pain and you’d think you could survive a little shoving during a match.” Cristiano suddenly says with a scoff.

 

Leo shuts his eyes in irritation. “Why are you trying to pick a fight with me again? Like really? I can never have a nice conversation that lasts longer than five minutes with you.”

 

Cristiano only closes his locker, looking frustrated himself as he walks out of the locker room without offering an answer and Leo sits in there alone for a while, mentally preparing himself for the rest of the day that’s already been completely draining in less than two hours.

 

He lets out a tired sigh, slipping into his cleats and tying the laces before grabbing his phone and walking out, towards the front desk and asking politely where the cafeteria was.

 

He wishes Angel was still here, or even Gonzalo. At least someone he could talk to about his frustrations and issues. Or even just to have someone to _talk_ to. It was obvious that no one here really liked him. He wasn’t stupid. No way was Pepe, Sergio is playing with his emotions most of the time, Marcelo and Toni were trying at the very least, and everyone else just seemed comfortable with leaving him alone. And he isn’t even going to start with Cristiano. 

 

He wonders for a moment that had Iker still been here, would things be much more different?

 

He thought the board at Barcelona was bad, but it was nothing compared to the board at Real Madrid. The thought of having to go in to them at all filled him with so much dread. They were all a bunch of dictators. No respect, no human decency. Seeing Iker alone in front of all those news reporters, lights flashing in his red eyes was enough to finally make Leo hate Real Madrid.

 

Barcelona made the poor entrances, but Real Madrid made the worst exits. 

 

That was for sure.

 

He pushes the door open to the cafeteria, instantly noticing all the players he would usually be playing against. It was all of them now, but luckily they were too focused in their own conversations to pay any attention to him.

 

Leo ducks his head, not wanting to be noticed at all as he shuffles towards the buffet set out, grabbing a bowl of fruit and a small water bottle, picking up a protein bar that was put in a little brown basket.

 

He sees Cristiano sitting at a table with Pepe, Marcelo, and Sergio. Gareth, Isco, and Dani were there too.

 

He wanted nothing to do with Cristiano and Pepe, so he slips into a chair closest to the wall of windows at an empty table, back facing them so they hopefully wouldn’t approach him. 

 

He looks out the window to see a bright green pitch. There are people already training there, and he figures it must be one of the youth teams. The first team’s must be somewhere else. He should probably leave early to ask where it was.

 

He stabs his fork into a piece of watermelon, plopping it into his mouth and chewing as he lets his eyes wonder over the small view of the city. He really liked the view of Madrid. It was nicer at Cristiano’s house, but this one isn’t bad either. Barcelona has the prettiest view, though. Especially by the sea. He’s happy Neymar finally bought a house over there considering how much the Brazilian has been complaining about not being able to find one. Even though he moved away from Leo, he was happy at his new house so that was all that really mattered.

 

And as a neighbor, Leo is kinda relieved because Neymar is young and likes to throw loud parties that get kinda annoying from time to time. Of course Leo didn’t say anything to Ney, because he understands. He was young too and that stuff used to interest him as well. Just not as much anymore. Maybe Geri was right. He was becoming an old man.

 

God, he’d never admit it to the taller man, though, the Spaniard would never let him live it down. Now he knows how Andres feels.

 

He misses his team. It’s been a little over a day, but this was difficult. First he’d get frustrated here and then he’d get frustrated at Cristiano’s House. It was hard going so long without having company. And he appreciates his privacy and alone time more than the normal person, but even he doesn’t like feeling _this_ alone. Maybe it was the idea that he knew comfort was there when he needed it that made him comfortable. The fact that he knew he had no company here was what was really driving him crazy. 

 

He flips his phone over, pressing the button to illuminate the screen. He freezes upon seeing all the messages and missed calls on his phone.

 

Mostly from Gerard.

 

His brows furrow in confusion as he scrolls through them.

 

_**Leo, are you okay?** _

 

_**I’ll talk to the club to bring you back somehow.** _

 

_**This isn’t worth it.** _

 

_**We can figure it out.** _

 

_**I’m going to kill him.** _

 

_**Call me.** _

 

_**Leo, Geri went insane.** _

 

The last one is from Neymar, Leo realizes. There were at least twenty other of the same messages from Gerard, and a couple from everyone else asking if he was okay. “What the hell,” He mutters, about to pick up his phone and call, ask what the fuck were they talking about when someone plops down in the seat in front of him.

 

He looks up to see Sergio staring at him with a frown.

 

Leo drops his phone on the table.

 

”Okay, what I did was really, really, _really_ shitty.” Sergio began and Leo looks at him, so unbelievably confused. “What are you taking about?”

 

”When I left you at the airport yesterday. But I swear on my life Leo, it was an accident. I promise.” Sergio says seriously and Leo doesn’t understand why they’re still on this topic when it was cleared up already. 

 

“Yeah, But... I already said it was okay. It’s really no big deal anymore. Why are you still stressing about it?” Leo asks.

 

”Maybe because you bitched us out to Pique.” A sneer of a voice was heard on their left and Leo turns to see Pepe glaring down at him from next to his table. Cristiano and Marcelo were standing next to him and Leo suddenly felt like a caged animal— hell, probably _looked_ like a caged animal.

 

”What?”

 

Marcelo shook his head, opening his mouth but Pepe cut him off. “Don’t act stupid. We know that’s your favorite thing to do, but seriously. We know you cried to Pique about what happened yesterday even though you knew damn well it was a fucking accident and that we forgot.” The Portuguese snapped, obviously angry, but Leo doesn’t understand what he did wrong to make everyone so upset all of a sudden. 

 

“What are you talking about?” Leo looks at everyone, bewildered. Cristiano looked like he wanted to say something, a hesitant look in his eyes but he stays silent.

 

”You called Pique and told him we purposely left you at the airport!” Pepe finally explodes, voice loud and causing others to turn to their table.

 

Leo stares up at the defender, shocked. “What...? I _never_ called Gerard. I haven’t talked to him since I left the airport at Barcelona. I haven’t called anyone.” He’s starting to become upset, his heart racing and feeling so defensive.

 

”Then why did he call Sergio yelling at him about us leaving you?” Pepe demands, leaning in threateningly but Marcelo pushes him back.

 

”How am I suppose to know!?” Leo exclaims, hands clenching around the fabric of his shorts, shaking slightly with anxiety. 

 

“Oh you know. Just like how you didn’t know about Sanchez and Ibrahimovic, right?”

 

”Pepe!” Cristiano snaps. “Cut it out! He’s been asleep the entire time he’s been at my house. I didn’t hear him talk to anyone.” 

 

Leo is seconds away from splashing his water all over the other man’s face. 

 

“Don’t defend him like you always do, Cris.” Pepe snapped back. “Not this time. He’s telling his team lies.”

 

”Or maybe it’s because this team is full of idiots and everything that fucking happened yesterday is all over the media because of all those shitty lying news reporters that followed Messi out of the airport. And most likely, like Pique usually does, jumped to conclusions and assumed the worst. So ease off the guy, okay?” Isco states loudly from behind them, showing the screen of his phone filled with headlines of Leo being left at the airport.

 

It’s silent for a good minute, and Leo’s biting hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from bursting into a fit of panic, cheeks red and arms clenched tight around himself protectively.

 

“Yeah, Pepe. Seriously. You don’t know Gerard. He reads the news and always starts assuming things. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, so leave him alone already, alright?” Sergio says calmly, eyes narrowed.

 

”Well I think—“ Pepe began but he’s cut off swiftly. “It doesn’t matter what you think. You don’t know Gerard and you don’t know Leo, so cut it out.” Cristiano tells him bluntly, a warning in his eyes.

 

”What, like you do?” Pepe asks incredulously. “A hell of a lot better than you do at least.” Cristiano snorts, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders and Leo can officially confirm that Real Madrid is a team filled with bipolar players. 

 

“Come on, hothead. It’s almost time for practice.” Cristiano leads the other Portuguese out of the cafeteria and everyone takes that as cue to mind their own business, going back to talking to themselves. 

 

Marcelo pats Leo’s head gently. It’s sad that Dani suddenly flashes in his mind.

 

”Don’t take it to heart,” Marcelo says, offering a sympathetic smile. “It’s all just a misunderstanding. You know how Pepe is.”

 

Sergio stood then. “Yeah, really. And again, I’m sorry—“

 

”It’s fine Sergio. Really. Please stop apologizing to me.” Leo breaths out a shaky breath, rubbing fingers against his temples as he feels a migraine beginning to form. 

 

Sergio stares at him for a moment before he follows Marcelo out the cafeteria. Leo stares down at his barely eaten food before he stood, throwing away his fruit and putting back his untouched bar and water bottle.

 

He strides out the cafeteria and goes outside the training grounds, over to a tree for privacy before he’s violently yanking his phone out of his pocket, dialing Gerard’s number and bring it up to his ear as he stared impatiently at the ground. It’s answered.

 

“Leo—“

 

”What the actual fuck did you do Geri!?” Leo hisses, furious.

 

Gerard is silent for a moment. “What? Are you serious? I’ve been trying to fucking call you since six yesterday!”

 

”What did you say to Ramos?” Leo demands, waiting for an answer. Gerard pauses before he lets out a sigh. “I might’ve called and yelled at him when I found out what they did to you—“

 

”Gerard—!“ Leo began with anger, but the other is quick to stop him. 

 

“Wait! Leo, okay. I know, I know. I shouldn’t have called him. I’m sorry. Ney already scolded me. Can you believe it? Neymar!”

 

Leo doesn’t laugh, and Gerard instantly picks up on the fact that he is _not_ amused.

 

”I’m sorry, Leo. Really. But they shouldn’t have left you there like that as a joke.”

 

Leo let’s out a harsh laugh of disbelief. “No, they shouldn’t have! But you want to know the problem, Gerard? You don’t know the whole damn story, so instead of calling Ramos you should’ve talked to me first.” 

 

“Now that’s just not fair, Leo. I tried calling you so many times—“

 

” _Geri_. Did you call Ramos before you tried to call me? Be fucking honest.”

 

“I called Sergio, but—“

 

”No! No _buts_ this time Gerard! What the fuck? You never once believed the media when they talked all that shit about Barça or me, but when it’s Real Madrid you don’t stop for one second to think that maybe, just _maybe_ it’s all a fucking lie?” Leo snarls, face turning red. He’s sick of this rivalry and it’s getting too out of hand. Iker’s lucky he got out of this mess— the only plus of leaving Barça or Real. 

 

“Leo they left you!”

 

”It was a fucking accident, Gerard! Accept it! Even Real Madrid makes innocent mistakes!” He’s shouting now, and he’s glad he went outside so no one could really hear him. 

 

“Excuse me for trying to protect you!” Gerard yells back. 

 

“I’m not a thirteen year old boy separated from his parents anymore! I appreciate it but fucking hell, leave me alone!”

 

Silence.

 

”Fine.”

 

”God, Geri. I didn’t mean it like that—“

 

”No Leo! You’re such a selfish asshole sometimes! Do you have any idea how fucking worried I’ve been? How many times I called you and you didn’t answer!? And yeah, I yelled at Sergio. But excuse me for fucking _loving_ you! For caring about you! But you couldn’t care enough to answer a goddamn phone call!”

 

”Yeah I have trust issues! I’m sorry for having trust issues when you left me for years and I only left you for a fucking week!” 

 

Gerard is too stunned to reply and it takes a moment for the words to register in his mind before he instantly wants to take them back. “Geri...”

 

”I left you for years?” Gerard repeats. “Left you for years!? When you were fucking scoring goals left and right with the first team and I had to go thousands of miles away from my fucking home to a country unfamiliar to me, learn a new language, and somehow make a name for myself so my supposed _home_ would welcome me back? You’re going to blame me for that!?”

 

”Gerard—“

 

”You didn’t have a fucking problem when I was leaving, you selfish bastard!”

 

”Fuck you! The whole reason I never said anything was because I knew you had to leave! So don’t call me selfish!”

 

”Obviously that’s not how you really felt, Leo! You’ve made that pretty obvious today!” 

 

“You know I didn’t mean any of that shit but of course you’d fucking push that on me the same way everyone else does. Just don’t try to fucking call me again Gerard.”

 

”Have fun in Madrid.”

 

He ended the call, throwing his phone in anger, watching it hit the pavement.

 

His fist is moving then, and he doesn’t register what he’s done until a throbbing pain jets up his hand and the knuckles are bleeding and he realizes he punched a tree. He lets out a string of curses, falling to his knees, and Leo finally has a break down. Tears stream freshly down his reddened cheeks and his shoulders shake. Everything hits him at once. The airport, Sergio, Cristiano, Pepe, Geri... Never once has he had such a big fight with Geri before, and it left him with the worst feeling he’s ever felt.

 

He knows it’s irrational but he wants to blame everyone. Geri, Sergio, Pepe, Cristiano, but most of all, himself. He has no one else to blame but himself for all these shitty situations, especially this fight with Geri. He should’ve just kept his cool and ignored everyone. Ignored Cristiano, ignored Pepe...

 

Now he was over the whole thing. He wouldn’t try to make this “as best as it could be”. Truth is, the situation he was put in was absolute shit. And he was done trying to pull his weight when no one else would. Something that seemed to occur no matter what he did. He’d wake up when he is suppose to, eat, train, go back to Cristiano’s house, avoid the man, somehow eat dinner, and sleep. Then hopefully he’d leave this pace as quick as he could. 

 

He presses his palms against his wet eyes, wiping the tears away roughly, drying his face and sniffling as he stood.

 

He sighs and walks over to his phone, picking it up and wincing at the shattered screen. He tries to pick up as many pieces as he could, throwing them away in the trash before he enters the building. The receptionist stares at him as he approaches the desk. “Um, hi. Do you have any bandages?” Leo mumbles, embarrassed. Maybe he should’ve waited until he got back to Cristiano’s house to call Gerard. He would’ve cooled down by then and the conversation wouldn’t have gotten ugly. And he wouldn’t be fighting with one of his best friends.

 

”Uh... Yeah. Here. You should probably get that checked with the nurses though.” He reaches down to grab them, handing a roll to Leo.

 

“I’m already late. I’ll try to go after practice.” Leo sighed, taking the roll. “Thank you though.”

 

”No problem... and if it helps, I don’t mind you being here, Messi.” He says kindly.

 

_God, why were the people who worked here nicer than the actual players?_

 

“Thank you...” Leo looks down at the name tag. “Ricardo. Really, thanks. It means a lot right now. You can call me Leo, by the way.”

 

”You’re welcome. Have a nice day, Leo.”

 

Leo rushes to the shower and bathroom area of the locker room, finding a sink and washing away the blood on his left hand. They still bleed as Leo wraps the bandage tightly over his knuckles and around his entire hand to secure it with a tie. He then jogs out, managing to ask a bypassing worker where the first team’s field is and following the directions given until he was climbing up the steps to a fresh pitch filled with familiar faces from earlier.

 

He doesn’t approach any of the players, head low, but Sergio notices him instantly, jogging over. “Where’d you go? I was getting worried.” He asks, looking at Leo. He notices the puffy and slightly red eyes and realizes instantly that something was wrong. “Hey— are you alright?”

 

Leo was getting really sick and tired of people asking him that. Because no, he wasn’t, but he was obviously going to say yes so they should just save the breath. He nods, making sure to keep his hand out of sight. He didn’t need everyone inquiring his actions right now. 

 

“If you say so,” Sergio chooses his words carefully, frowning as if he wanted to say more but thinks better of it to just not ask. Leo appreciates it.

 

He’s been too harsh on Sergio. Sure the defender likes to try and break his ankles and left him at the airport for hours, but it was a genuine mistake and he’d given Leo no reason to doubt his sincerity ever since they met yesterday. Gerard can fight with Sergio all he wants, but even he can’t deny how nice Sergio was off the pitch. 

 

“You’re old coach is gone, right?” Leo mutters to Sergio who snorts. “Yup, Thank Jesus for that. Nice tattoos by the way.”

 

”Thanks.”

 

They approach a familiar face and Leo can feel a small smile start to grow. Zidane smiles at him. “Hello, Messi. It’s nice to see you again. How are you?”

 

“I’m good. How are you Zidane?” Leo asks politely. 

 

“I’m well. I haven’t seen you since The Clasico back in 2005. You’ve obviously been doing much better since then, that’s for sure.” Zidane tells him and Leo smiles brightly. “Well, most people from that team are gone now, sadly enough.”

 

”Good for us, then.” The Frenchman chuckles and Leo isn’t offended. If he had been Geri or Ney, then maybe but he didn’t take things like that to heart the way his other teammates did. It was no lie that when Dinho and Eto’o were with him that they had completely dominated the Liga season. Even with Zidane and Beckham. Leo grew up with all of them, and there were no hard feelings between any of the el Clasico giants from the early 2000s. Especially now that most of them were retired. 

 

“I never thought I’d see you on this side, though.” Zidane comments.

 

“Yeah, that makes two of us.” Leo sighs.

 

”We’re just doing some stretching right now. It’s your first day here so I’ll let the lateness slide, especially since you look like you’ve had a rough day. But be on time tomorrow, okay?” Zidane whispers his appearance part to him quietly and Leo appreciates it. It’s obvious to tell that he’s been crying, just another reason he hated his pale skin. Once the flush was there, it took forever to cool down.

 

”Got it.” Leo nods before jogging over to the mats, following pursuit of the others that were sat stretching their legs as they reached for their toes.

 

Leo sat and reached to touch his cleated foot, feeling the muscles stretch in preparation for the exercise to come.

 

”What happened to your hand?”

 

He turns left to see Cristiano staring at his hand that was holding the top of his left boot.

 

Leo shrugged, turning back forward. He didn’t really want to talk to Cristiano. Any of them, actually. He just wanted to finish the day and go back to the bed he was occupying.

 

”Stop bullshitting me. I asked you a question—“

 

”I punched a tree.”

 

Cristiano quiets, staring with a heated gaze towards Leo’s face but Leo stares forward, not wanting to engage at all.

 

”And your phone?” He nods towards the broken device that sat sadly next to Leo on the mat.

 

”Threw it. Broke the screen.”

 

”Were you crying?”

 

Leo doesn’t answer his question, doesn’t want to. Why Cristiano was asking all of this, he had no clue. Maybe to gossip about it later to his buddies, but Leo wasn’t in the mood.

 

Cristiano rolls his eyes at the lack of response, looking away.

 

Leo finds talking with Cristiano even harder than scoring from a corner kick. The guy was the strangest of strange that had mood swings constantly and randomly. One minute it was a nice friendly conversation, and the next Cristiano was as cold as a block of ice, or he was trying to rip out Leo’s throat. 

 

It was easier if they just didn’t talk at all, he concludes. This was for the best.

 

As they finish up stretching, Leo stares down at the red color that is starting to barely seep through the white bandage with a frown, wondering why his knuckles were bleeding so damn much. They then move on to running, and Leo goes at his usual pace, towards the front. Unsurprisingly, Gareth and Rafael were all the way in the front, seemingly the fastest on the team.

 

Cristiano is behind him, but Leo isn’t stupid. Cristiano could run circles around him if he wanted. Why he was purposely slowing himself down, Leo didn’t want to know.

 

Pepe is suddenly sprinting quickly, zooming forward from behind him and almost knocking Leo to the ground with how close he got, causing the smaller man to stumble in an attempt to regain his balance. Leo didn’t think it was on purpose until he saw the smug smirk the defender throws towards him. He just rolls his eyes, not falling for the obvious trap set out in front of him. 

 

Pepe acts like an immature little child, and a frightening one at that. He looked like a fucking serial killer, like he’d stab Leo with a knife at any moment and run away while laughing maniacally. Leo wasn’t going to amuse him and his weird enjoyment with pissing him off by getting angry, instead acting unbothered.

 

They then jog to center field and separate into a few circles, a ball put in the middle.

 

Leo is grateful that Cristiano and Pepe are in one of the other circles away from him. He stands next to Marcelo, eyeing the ball hungrily. Playing football was a stress reliever. And he could definitely go for that right now.

 

”Gareth and Toni are going first today.” Sergio says lazily but Gareth groans. “No! I can never get it from you assholes.”

 

Toni moves to the center with no problem, smiling brightly like the happy German he always is.

 

”I am captain. What I say goes, bitches.”

 

“Who’s dumb idea...” Gareth mutters, moving in glumly. 

 

Leo finds it really funny how Sergio uses the captain card to his advantage but then complains about it at the same time. He sounds exactly like Gerard when the other Sergio, Andres, and Leo were all benched during a game for rest. He frowns at the thought of Gerard. He definitely needed to apologize, but they both needed some time to themselves first and just not talk to each other for a while to calm down. 

 

They begin and Leo is quick to chip it over Gareth to Dani when the ball lands at his feet, doing so with ease. He forgets that he isn’t home or with his teammates, just focusing on the ball and nothing else. Not the fact that Marcelo was next to him or that he was wearing a Real Madrid training jersey.

 

He manages to sneak the ball between Toni’s legs before the midfielder can close them, and Marcelo is ruffling his hair while laughing at the blond’s pout. 

 

Leo feels much more comfortable on the field, more familiar and more in his zone of knowledge and enjoyment.

 

Well, until they get to the practice games.

 

The assistant coaches drop two different colored pinnies and Sergio throws Leo a blue one that he slips on without question. Cristiano reaches for a orange one, but Zidane is quick to stop him. “Grab a blue.”

 

Cristiano stares at his coach blankly, glancing at Leo and then back at the Frenchman.

 

”You’re gonna end up playing with him at some point, Cris. Better to get used to it.” Marcelo whispers and Leo hears them anyway, however he just doesn’t really care. 

 

“But—“ Cristiano began, Zidane stopping him. “I just want to see how you two work. And you need to learn how to play with him. If we’re gonna be playing matches then you guys need to build some type of chemistry, and quickly. Otherwise we’re the ones who are gonna end up suffering.” 

 

Cristiano does _not_ look happy as he pulls on a blue pinny, throwing Leo a heavy glare like it’s his fault. They put Leo in the middle, knowing it’s where he’s most comfortable, with Cristiano to his right and Gareth on his left.

 

Leo realizes that it’s very strange. Weird to not be staring down at Cristiano and Isco or Sergio, rather being aware of the fact that they were behind him instead. To _support_ him. To help him score. It was all incredibly foreign. 

 

They start with the ball and Leo sends it to the left, which is unusual because he’d always start out matches passing to Ney, whose position is where Cristiano was. Leo quickly picks up on the fact that he’s purposely avoiding Cristiano and he really shouldn’t be doing that considering how Cristiano was the glue of the Madrid team.

 

They're now pressing forward and Gareth passes back to Leo who dribbled with ease past Toni who fails at his attempt to clip the ball away from him. As they approach the goal he can hear Cristiano calling out to him for a pass, but Leo ignores it. He makes a step towards the left before using his speed to pull the ball to the right and breezing past Carlos easliy. He takes Navas head on, clipping it over his head and watching the ball hit the back of the net.

 

He feels Gareth pat him on the back, but Cristiano’s annoyed face is in his gaze. 

 

“I was open.” He grits out, anger radiating off him in heavy waves. Leo shrugs, trying to walk off, but Cristiano doesn’t let him off the hook that easily as he grips his arm tightly. His hand was warm against the slightly cold skin of his forearm. “I followed my gut.” Leo says simply to shake him off but it obviously fails.

 

“No. You followed your anger and it’s going to get you in trouble. You aren’t playing against us, you’re playing with us. Start acting like it,” Cristiano snapped.

 

”Cut it out you two. It’s only practice.” Dani reassured, separating the two gently and Cristiano’s fingers leave his arm.

 

”Only practice? If this is how he plays at practice how do you think he’s going to act in games? I’d be a miracle if we could even get one more point on the table with him on the pitch playing like that.” Cristiano hisses before returning to his position.

 

”Don't take it personally. Cristiano has a tendency to get serious during practice when the team isn’t playing to expectations.” Dani whisperers to Leo, ruffling his hair before moving back to his position.

 

Leo rolls his eyes at that, going into the middle once more. If this was Cristiano during practice, then he’d be an absolute nightmare during games. He was _not_ excited for that.

 

They start again, and just like last time, Leo passes off to Gareth. He can hear Cristiano’s irritated groan from a little further down from him.

 

Gareth is a very fast runner, so Leo tries his best to keep up with the pace as they run forward and he speeds up when the ball is kicked to the right towards him.

 

Either he misinterpreted the pass, or didn’t because that’s when a frustrated Cristiano appears like a fucking bulldozer, running in the same direction he was. They collide roughly, tan legs tangling up with pale ones, knocking each other into a heap on the floor violently as Leo fell on top of Cristiano, wincing against the other’s chest. The ball rolls abandoned to the right until Marcelo kicks it to Toni, the German offering it to Benzema, who proceeds to kick it into the top right and hearing the ring of the crossbar shake with the net to inform them of the other team’s scored goal.

 

Cristiano sits up so suddenly that Leo, whose body had been lying on top of the Portuguese, was shoved to the ground. Leo sits up as well, equaling up to Cristiano’s furious glare with narrowed eyes of his own. “What’s you fucking problem, Messi!?”

 

Everyone turns to them, not looking at all shocked by the built up turn of events. “It was bound to happen at some point.” Isco says with a shrug, kicking the ball up into his arms.

 

Zidane seems content with letting them hash it out on their own, crossing his arms and watching amusedly like an innocent bystander, as if he didn’t instigate this entire thing by putting them on the same team. 

 

“The pass was closer to me. You’re the one who moved out of position and left the right open.” Leo defends calmly, trying to untangle his legs from Cristiano's, but the taller man squeezes his thighs together around his to keep him in place so he could yell at him more.

 

”Well maybe if you’d stop acting like I don’t fucking exist in the game and actually pass to me, I wouldn’t have to force my way in!” Cristiano snarls. Leo isn’t even surprised this happened. They were two incredibly distinctive players and their games usually revolve around their abilities most of the time. So for both of them to be on the same side of the field, it was excruciatingly difficult. 

 

Leo forcefully shoved Cristiano’s legs off him and stood, the other quick to follow and stepping threateningly into his space, using his hight to intimate him but Leo only looks up at him, bored.

 

Sergio is there then, pressing his hands against both their chests and pushing them a part to ease the tension off. “Enough, you two. Can you guys just _try_ to get along? Please? For the team?” He groans, obviously done with everyone’s shit.

 

Leo rubs his temples in irritation but offers a curt nod. This time when they line up and the whistle is blown, Leo doesn’t act like a dumbass anymore, sending the ball right like he usually does.

 

Cristiano seems to stumble with it at first, surprised it came to him but he’s quick to recover, running with it down the right line and bypassing Lucas. Carlos once again tries to press Leo back in intimidation, but Leo easily moves past the defender just as Cristiano sends it high towards him, and he wastes no time by stopping it, simply volleying it into the far right middle of the post, the ball just grazing past Navas’ gloves before slamming into the net that shook the posts violently.

 

The pitch is silent for a moment and Leo glanced to Cristiano who is staring right at him with no smile present, eyes contemplative. They could make this work if they tried.

 

”Praise Jesus, they did it!” Sergio exclaimed loudly from where he was leaning over an impressed Zidane’s shoulder, Marcelo, Isco, and Jesé watching with beaming grins from where they sat on the grass next to the pair.

 

”Are you guys here to practice or watch a free show?” Cristiano snarks at them as he jogs past Leo over to the group.

 

Leo doesn’t miss the gentle brush of a hand against his lower back and his eyes shot up from the ground to bore holes in the back of Cristiano’s head.

 

He thinks it’s the first time that Cristiano has willingly touched him without it being out of spite. 

 

“Watch a show! How’d you know? It’s very amusing. Like a Spanish soap opera, actually. Where the two who hate each other end up fitting perfectly with one another.” Jesé shoots back, a knowing smirk on his face.

 

”Real funny, asshole.” Cristiano muttered, throwing the blue pinny he had stripped off in the other man’s face roughly who was quick to grab it and throw it back only for the thin cloth to miss its target entirely, landing on the floor. Cristiano snickers at the failed attempt.

 

Leo pulls his own pinny off, properly throwing it in the bag of laundry like he’s suppose to before he picks up his still shattered phone, walking away from everyone else as the second group begin a practice game. 

 

He sits further down alone, back pressed against the right post of an empty goal. 

 

He tries to to turn on his phone, and the black, cracked screen starts glowing a dim white before turning on and Leo has to slam it against the post a couple times before the touch screen actually works. He lets out a sigh of relief, glad it could still work while he would begin his search to buy a new one.

 

He has two missed calls and already he doesn’t want to answer them. He ignores the Neymar one, knowing that they’d be talking for at least an hour and would prefer to do it in much more privacy. However he did call back Andres, because he needed to let _someone_ know what the hell was going on with him now that he and Geri were fighting.

 

It barely gets on the second ring before it’s answered. “Hello?”

 

”I broke my phone.”

 

Andres paused. “I figured you’d end up doing something like that.”

 

”I punched a tree too.”

 

”Wasn't expecting that, but not all that surprised, either.” Andres sighed. “What happened? What did you and Geri talk about? You could hear him screaming from a mile away.”

 

”Things just got so out of hand,” Leo started, voice already weak, showing his unrest with everything. “Sergio left me at the airport by accident, Cristiano really doesn’t like me, Pepe wants to kill me, and Geri just made it all worse by calling Sergio because now they all think I told him on purpose when I never even called him until today.”

 

“God, Leo. I wish you never left.” Andres says tiredly. “Anyone but you. You were the worst possible choice for all this. Who are you staying with?”

 

”Cristiano. What about James?” Leo suddenly remembers the Colombian man. He was so caught up in all the shit over here that he totally forgot about the other South American. 

 

“He’s doing good. He’s staying with Neymar and they’ve become best friends. It’s really creepy.” Andres mutters and Leo snorts. “Why’s that?”

 

”Because James is sweet, and Ney is... well, the opposites of that.”

 

”Neymar is adorable, don’t deny it.” He laughed. “They probably look like cute little toddler friends, huh?”

 

”I think Dani is about ready to adopt them, actually.”

 

The thought of Dani trying to raise kids actually kinda terrifies him. On the other hand though, he treated his cats like children so maybe he wouldn’t be _that_ bad at it.

 

“Hey... don’t take your anger out from what’s happening here on him, okay?”

 

Andres laughs breathlessly. “Come on, Leo. We’re better than that.”

 

”Of course we are. But the way everyone talks might make him feel that way. And I don’t mean you personally, but Geri and Dani, Sergio.... even Ney.” Leo explains, but Andres snorts. “Ney? Neymar could never hurt the guy, Leo. You haven’t seen those two.”

 

”Neymar doesn’t have a filter for his words.”

 

”If it’s James he does.”

 

Leo found that odd. Although Neymar was loud and bubbly, always friendly, he would always stick with a certain very specific group. For him to be all this welcoming the way that Andres was implying was... strange. He makes a mental note to talk about it with the Brazilian himself when he gets the chance.

 

 “Now, Gerard.” Andres’ tone became serious and Leo plays with the end of his training Jersey in a fidget. “The Gerard thing was totally my fault.” Leo admits honestly. 

 

“He called Sergio, and you called him after you found out I suppose?”

 

”I... He called Sergio and yelled at him for leaving me at the airport because he thought Sergio was doing it on purpose. You know, stupid Gerard thoughts.”

 

Andres hums in acknowledgement. 

 

“I guess Sergio was feeling super guilty about it because he must’ve told the others about the phone call to find out what he should do. Next thing I know, Sergio is apologizing all over again and suddenly Pepe is in my face shouting all these accusations of how I caused all this and how I keep acting like a victim. I really don’t understand this man’s pinpoint hatred for me, like seriously.”

 

”He’s got some serious anger issues.”

 

”Right? But anyways, after that fiasco I called Geri and I was pretty irrationally angry to be honest. We start arguing about all the Sergio stuff and how he keeps fighting with people without knowing the whole story of things and then it just shifts completely to... uh... well, La Masia.” Leo mumbles the last part. 

 

“What?” Andres inhaled sharply. “Leo? Don’t tell me you guys fought about the first teams.”

 

”Not necessarily?”

 

”God, Leo...”

 

”He... Okay, I take full responsibility for it getting to that point. I’m the one that mentioned his move to Manchester. And I was just so _angry_. I really am sorry, Andres. You know better than anyone how much I wished Geri was in the first team with me those first few years. He’s... he’s like a brother to me. It was hard without him and Cesc. I was being selfish and I totally blew up on him. He really didn’t deserve that. All of us know how sensitive of a topic it is and I just rubbed it in his face so cruelly. I feel like such shit.” Leo could feel tears starting to form in his eyes, because he really did feel bad for all of it. 

 

“Leo, you know better than anyone how far he’d go for Barcelona. Hell, he’s fighting with his own country for it. You shouldn’t have let it go that far, you’re more level headed than that. But you need to stop acting like you were fine all those years when you first came to the team.” 

 

“How can I act like I was suffering when I was given so much?” 

 

“Leo, it isn’t _healthy_. You were depressed. Gerard doesn’t even know about it, so of course he’s going to be hurt. You need to admit it to yourself and sit down with Gerard and air out all those emotions. It doesn’t matter if it’s ten years later and you don’t feel that way anymore. It’s still putting a strain on both of you. Today proved it. Call Cesc. If we need to get him down here, he’ll come.” His captain’s voice is firm.

 

”Andres, please. You know Geri just as well as I do. The minute I mention the anti-depressants I was taking at age fucking seventeen he’s going to blame himself. We don’t need to be digging up all this old shit so that Geri starts hating himself for leaving Barcelona. That’s so incredibly selfish. I’m not doing it.” Leo whispers. “Especially not now. I don’t want to talk about it. Not when I’m in Madrid. Please.”

 

“Fine. We’re done talking about it for now. But once you come back, I’m bringing it up again.”

 

Leo sighs. “Fine.”

 

”And you need to talk to Geri to fix this argument at the very least. Oh yeah, Neymar is waiting to yell at you by the way.” He informs and Leo groans.

 

”So, Cristiano Ronaldo? How’s that going?” Andres muses at the question.

 

”Cristiano? Well, at first it was horrible, then it was ok, then it was kinda good, then it was really bad, then it was the worst it could ever be, and now I have no idea how it is.” Leo snorts. That was the perfect representation of how their interactions were going so far. It was one hell of a rollercoaster.

 

”Do I even wanna ask?”

 

”Probably not. I mean— it’s really not that bad. He’s letting me stay in his house and feels obligated enough to feed me and drive me to practice so I really shouldn’t complain. But it’s like we’re fine until football is somehow mentioned. Then it’s like a switch and we’re fighting again.” Leo rips some pieces of grass from the ground in frustration. “I had my first practice today, by the way.”

 

”Oh really? How’d it go being on Los Blancos for once?” Andres laughed at the idea.

 

“You know, I thought I was going to murder someone but after a while we got the hang of it and we actually play kinda well together.” Leo says, impressed. “I almost killed Cristiano for kicking me to the ground, but that was mostly my fault. How about you guys? What’s it like with the World Cup boy wonder James?”

 

”Uh, we’ll have to see how that goes...” Andres grumbles.

 

”Damn. Anyways, I probably have to go soon. Thank you for calling, really. And try to mention to the others that my phone is broken? I’ll try and get a new one some time today, but no promises.”

 

”No problem. And remember what I told you Leo.” Andres says, voice soft and sincere.

 

”I always do, Andres.”

 

”See you soon.”

 

”Yup. Bye.” 

 

The line goes dead. Leo stares down at the black screen for a while before a voice frightens him.

 

“Gossiping about me to the captain, huh?”

 

Leo almost screams as he turns with a wildly racing heart to see Cristiano sitting with his back against the other post, staring right at him calmly. 

 

Leo freezes in icy cold fear. “How long have you been there for?”

 

”About a minute or two,” Cristiano says simply, but a glint in his eyes tells Leo that he’s been there for a lot longer, and he really doesn’t appreciate that. Cristiano should respect his privacy when he’s talking to someone or about someone that has nothing to do with him. Hopefully he didn’t hear much about his Geri situation, but Leo has high doubts.

 

”Don’t fucking lie,” Leo hisses, downright furious at the invasion of privacy. There’s a reason he was sitting all the way out here instead of next to Marcelo or Toni. “How long were you _really_ here for?”

 

Cristiano stares at him for a while, fiddling with his fingers before he sighs. “Long enough. But I didn’t hear anything you didn’t want me to. Promise.”

 

Leo turned his back towards Cristiano, cupping a hand against his forehead in irritation. “Gerard’s business has nothing to do with you. You didn’t hear any of it.”

 

”And yours?”

 

Leo wants to scream, because this was an obvious implication that Cristiano had heard his seventeen year old self’s dilemmas when _no one_ was suppose to know about it, let alone Cristiano fucking Ronaldo.

 

“You heard _nothing_ about me.” Leo mutters each word out clearly and lowly, voice filled with venom. He doesn’t turn to look at the other man’s reaction, fingers clenching the fabric of his shorts into fists pressed against his knees and he grits his teeth.

 

Cristiano is silent for a moment. “Can I offer my opinion?”

 

” _No_.” Leo practically barks.

 

”You’d feel better talking about it—“

 

”I said _no_. I don’t need another Andres in my ear 24/7.” He snaps, not wanting to talk about this with Cristiano of all people.

 

Cristiano huffs, and Leo can hear him standing up. “I can take you to the Apple Store after practice to get a new phone.” He then says simply.

 

”Are you pitying me? Because I don’t need your fucking pity, Ronaldo.”

 

Cristiano snorts. “If I was pitying you, _trust_ me, you’d know it.” He walks off then, unbothered by Leo’s coldness.

 

Leo watches him leave with a scowl. Cristiano better keep his mouth shut. Because if he didn’t, Dani and Neymar would have a nice _conversation_ with him about privacy. 

 

~

 

**_Ciudad Real Madrid; Madrid, Spain 5:08 pm_ **

 

Leo stood silently next to the door as Cristiano finished packing up his duffel bag. He grabs it and shoved past Leo to exit the door and Leo sighs, following him out. In a way, he’s glad Cristiano isn’t treating him differently or walking on eggshells around him after overhearing what he did, but on another hand he’s slightly concerned at the lack of care. Maybe he really did hate Leo enough to not give a shit. 

 

Leo doesn’t let it affect him, though. Cristiano only had to deal with him for a week and then he’d be gone until they’d meet again in March. Even then, their conversations would be the absolute minimum.

 

He waves goodbye to Ricardo who smiles at him as he exits the training grounds, walking over to the passenger seat of Cristiano’s Porsche and slipping in while Cristiano shoves his bag in the back. He clicks in his seatbelt as Cristiano enters.

 

They don’t drive back to the house, but Cristiano takes them towards the other side, the more busy area of town. He looks around thoughtfully before discreetly parking in a hidden area behind a building. “We’re gonna walk from here because people are crazy. I’m too lazy to make anything today so we’ll grab some takeout too.” Cristiano tells him in a curt voice, reaching into the back and pulling out a sweatshirt, slipping out of his jacket and throwing it in the back before shoving the thick hoodie over his head and keeping the hood over his hair.

 

Leo snorts. “What? Do you just keep that in your car for whenever you have to go out in public to avoid your devoted Ronaldo fans?” 

 

“You don’t?”

 

”I’m always wearing hoodies.”

 

”Congratulations. Some of us actually have a taste of style, however.” Cristiano retorts back, reaching up and pulling out a pair of large jet black sunglasses and putting them on. He reaches over and yanks Leo’s hood over his head roughly and Leo hisses, slapping his hands away. “That hurt!”

 

”Stop bitching. Do you want to be attacked by Madridstas today? No? Then shut up.” Cristiano rummages in the glove department before pulling out a case and opening it to reveal a pair of identical sunglasses. “Why do you have two pairs of the same damn sunglasses?”

 

”How about, fuck you?” Cristiano prompts, handing them to Leo and turning the ignition of the car off and opening his door. Leo grumbles to himself quietly as he puts the sunglasses on and steps out as well, Cristiano locking the doors.

 

They walk onto the sidewalk of a busy street and no one gives them a glance, something Leo is relieved to see. 

 

Cristiano has a hand on his elbow, directing him as if Leo was a little kid that would get lost. Leo wasn’t in the mood to argue, letting the Portuguese drag him around. The Madrid crowd was child’s play compared to the crowd on the streets in Barcelona. 

 

”If you swapped to Barcelona instead of me being swapped here, you’d be lost in a sea off people by now.” Leo comments and Cristiano glances at him. “What? You’re that desperate to have me on your team?”

 

Leo scoffs. “You wish.”

 

”No— _you_ wish.” Cristiano grins. 

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Cristiano stops suddenly at a store with a grey apple over it and pulls Leo gently by the arm into the expensive device store.

 

”Hello! My name is Clarisse. How can I help you both today?” A woman asks politely when she approached them. 

 

“We wanted to buy a phone.” Cristiano says before Leo can even open his mouth. 

 

“Well, we have all the models including the new iPhone 6 with the plus and the S.” She beamed at their desire to purchase. “Follow me.”

 

“Hey, at least I have an excuse to finally buy the new one.” Leo mutters under his breath.

 

“What was that?” Cristiano turns to him sharply, as if he was insulting him. “Nothing.“ Leo sighs as they follow Clarisse through the front towards the display of phones.

 

”You said something,” Cristiano pushes.

 

”I was talking to myself, alright? Leave it alone already Cristia—“

 

Cristiano slaps a hand over his mouth. “Jesus, you don’t go out a lot, do you?”

 

Leo slaps his hand off him with a defiant glare that Cristiano only smiles to in a mockingly sweet way. “Don’t call me by my name in public, please? Not all of us have a common nickname to go by, alright?”

 

Leo smirks. “Okay then, _Crissy_.”

 

Cristiano’s smile drops and he glares evidently through the shaded out lenses at Leo. 

 

Before he could retort a reply back, Clarisse had stopped and turned to them. “So what kind would you like?”

 

Cristiano uses it as a perfect opportunity to get him back. “We want the six for sure. But maybe not the plus. He’s kinda small, you know? It’ll weigh him down.”

 

Leo squeezes Cristiano’s hip violently with a scowl, causing the other man to flinch and slap his hand away from his body. 

 

The worker stares at them amusedly. 

 

“The Six S is fine, thank you.” Leo says calmly, elbowing Cristiano in the stomach when the taller man shoved him slightly with his arm. 

 

“God— sorry, you two are adorable. What color was that? We have rose gold, jet black, and silver.”

 

Leo was too dumbstruck by the fact that this woman though that he and Cristiano looked _adorable_ to even process her question. Cristiano, however, was unfazed by the inquiry. “Silver.”

 

She nods.

 

”Because I’m gold, mr second place.” Cristiano then whispers and Leo just wants to strangle him. “I am going to slap you.” Leo promises.

 

”If you can even reach.” Cristiano stifled a loud laugh, covering his mouth as Leo stomped on his foot. Cristiano pushes him back with a hand like he’s a little child throwing a temper tantrum. 

 

He doesn’t even know why he’s letting Cristiano’s words annoy him so much. This playful banter they suddenly developed made him want to rip his hair out with how comfortable Cristiano was acting towards him when not even two hours ago he wanted to punch Leo in the face. 

 

“Here you are. I’ll ring you up front.” Clarisse returns with the box, guiding the pair towards the cash register. Cristiano seemed to be staring intently out he window at something, but Leo just ignores him as the worker rings him up. Being the smart man he most certainly is, Leo pays with cash, knowing that the minute the woman saw his signature on the receipt for his card that all hell would break loose. 

 

“Thank you! Have a good day!” Clarisse waves and Leo smiles with a wave of his own, turning to walk out the door while look down in his bag at his new phone.

 

There’s a tight arm yanking him back into a hard chest then, and he stumbles a bit, looking up to see Cristiano definitely glaring at him with the way his face was scrunched up. ”Can you be any more clueless? You almost ran into the fucking table, Leo.” He snaps, indicating to the sharp corner pointed towards them. 

 

“Sorry. I didn’t see it.” Leo mumbles, cheeks pink.

 

”I need you to stay in here for a sec.” Cristiano shifts, glancing out the window again. Leo’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?”

 

“I just need to do something. Set up your phone while I’m gone. And don’t talk to anyone or leave. I’ll be back soon. Promise.” Cristiano tells him, forcing him to sit on one of the stools near the back corner of the store.

 

Leo watches him walk off, feeling almost hopeless. He really hopes Cristiano doesn’t just leave him there to fend off the wolves that were bound to find out who he was sooner or later. 

 

He opens his his box and pulls the phone out, turning it on and beginning to set it up.

 

It took him about fifteen minutes to put his sim into the phone and completely redownload all his memory such as his photos and apps, when Cristiano finally returned with a bag in his hand. “You done?”

 

Leo blinks, nodding. “Cool, let’s go.” He grabs his hand and hoists Leo out of the chair. He let’s go and pushes the door open, waking out with Leo trailing behind him. “What’s in the bag?”

 

”Stuff.”

 

Leo snorts. “No shit.” 

 

“Keep acting like a smartass and you can walk your way back home.” Cristiano sasses. 

 

Leo rolls his eyes but says no more. They walk quietly down the sidewalk that was slowly becoming more and more empty as the afternoon shifts to the evening. Leo looks up at the bright orange sky that shifts to a soft pink and a dark blue. The day was almost over. 

 

“Watch it!” Cristiano growls when Leo almost walks into open traffic just as a fast car zooms past, yanking him back to him roughly. He can feel Cristiano’s racing heart against his back. Leo freezes in shock at what could’ve just happened. He didn’t even realize Cristiano had stopped at the red lighted crosswalk. “That’s it. You’re literally an accident waiting to happen.” Cristiano’s hand slips down into his, gripping tightly. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Leo tried to pull his hand out but Cristiano’s hold is firm, unwilling to let go. “Keeping you alive since you clearly don’t know how to walk like a proper human being. Trust me, I’m enjoying this just as much as you are. But it’s either this or my arm over your shoulders because you’re giving me some serious anxiety.”  

 

Leo sighs, letting Cristiano hold him like a child. He didn’t like being treated like a little kid, but to be fair, he did almost just get run over by a car. 

 

They cross the street, and Cristiano keeps him incredibly close, as if afraid Leo would break away from him and go fall off a building by accident. 

 

“Japanese?” Leo looks at the sign.

 

”Do you like Sushi?” Cristiano turns to look down at him. “Yeah.” Leo’s mind is on Sergi, though. The adorably too nice midfielder loved sushi more than anything. More than Luis loved hamburgers, actually. Which was an accomplishment of its own. He actually remembers this one time last season when Sergi was literally eating sushi every other day and he almost started crying because the health doctors told him he couldn’t eat it anymore if he kept eating that much in a week. Of course Geri and Ney made fun of him, but Luis defended the man’s love for food, knowing all too well the viciousness of the health doctors controlling his own meal plan by cutting his intake of burgers.

 

Cristiano had pulled him into the small eatery, towards the short line. “Nigiri?” He asks and Leo nods. “Is salmon okay with you?”

 

”It’s my favorite type.” Leo shrugs, small.

 

Cristiano hums. “Mine too.”

 

As he orders, Leo looks out the window to see that the sky has darkened even further. When he turns back, he catches Cristiano staring st him so intensely that it makes him bristle, unsettled and uncomfortable. “What?”

 

”Hm?”

 

”You’re staring. Did you need something?”

 

Cristiano opens his mouth, then stops, hesitating before closing his mouth firmly. “It’s nothing.” He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

 

Leo glances at him before turning back towards the front as two boxes are placed on the counter top in a bag. He didn’t realize how hungry he really was until just now, not eating his breakfast in the morning taking its toll.

 

Cristiano pays and Leo carries the bag while Cristiano carries whatever it was he had in his bag, his other hand slipping into Leo’s free one once again when they reached outside. “I’ll be careful, promise.” Leo tries, looking over to see Cristiano shaking his head. “Yeah, sure you will.”

 

”I will!” Leo defends. Cristiano’s tightened grip is the response he gets, and he sighs, giving up. They walk back to the car and Leo finally takes the stupid sunglasses off when they get inside. “Are you always that bossy?” Leo snarks, putting his glasses in the case. 

 

“Shut up.”

 

 _He definitely is_. Leo thinks smugly, buckling his seatbelt on.

 

~

 

**_Ronaldo House; Madrid, Spain 7:47 pm_ **

 

Leo took both bags from Cristiano while the other man grabbed his duffel bag, both walking up the steps and into the house after Cristiano slots the key in to open the front door.

 

Cristiano dumps his training bag by the stairs as he shoves his hood off, smoothing out his hair carefully as he hung his car keys on the hooks by the coat closet. Leo follows the man into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the table. 

 

“We’re eating in the living room.” Cristiano mutters, grabbing the bag of food and stalking off. Leo frowns but follows after giving the other bag on the counter a glance. Cristiano places the bag down on the coffee table, pulling out both boxes and handing one to Leo. Leo goes to sit on the farther end of the coach away from Cristiano, carfully pulling his chopsticks out of the paper.

 

Cristiano turns on the tv and throws the remote on the couch carelessly, and as soon as he does, Leo sees pictures of himself on a news channel. The picture of him celebrating in the Barcelona jersey with Neymar and then another with him staring hollowly up the stairs he was climbing, a navy blue Argentina jersey over his body with the Brazil stadium behind him. The World Cup glimmers in front of him and he knows instantly where it’s from, wanting to sink to the floor as he froze.

 

”There has been much speculation of how Lionel Messi will perform with Real Madrid. Many have no faith, believing that Messi is nothing without his Barcelona team. They defend this through Messi’s constant disappointments and failures with the national team, Argentina. Which includes the Copa America final he lost last summer and the World Cup final—“

 

Cristiano scrambles to grab the remote, slamming his finger against a button, changing the channel quickly to a kids cartoon. 

 

Leo stares blankly at the singing toys on the screen. Cristiano turns to him hesitantly. “I... I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was—“

 

”It’s fine.” Leo replies sharply, hand gripping the wooden sticks in his hand.

 

”Really, Leo—“

 

”I said it’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

”You don’t need to prove anything to anyone with the World Cup—“

 

”Cristiano, _please_.”

 

Cristiano doesn’t look like he wants to leave Leo alone, but he lets it go upon hearing the brokenness in the other man’s voice, turning back to the front.

 

Leo rubs his eyes tiredly, opening his box as Cristiano switches to a movie, thankfully something that had nothing to do with football. 

 

They eat in silence, but Leo isn’t paying attention to the tv, his racing thoughts just wouldn’t allow it. Images flash through his mind, haunting memories he tries to repress daily but always manage to come back to drain him of all emotion, of all feeling until he was nothing simply but a hollow shell of his former self. He wishes it would hurt. Like it hurt the minute the whistle blew after every single one of those finals. But every single time it would switch, like a dying out flame. One minute he was in pain and the next it was like he could feel nothing at all. The numbness of it all was the worst part. Feeling nothing but _emptiness_. They could hurt him all they wanted, as long as he could feel. He just wanted to feel _something_ other than this nothingness.

 

_Copa America 2007, 0-3 vs Brazil._

_World Cup 2014, 0-1 vs Germany._

_Copa America 2015, 0-0 (1-4) vs Chile._

 

How much more of it could he take? He really had no idea. Maybe it was himself. He was so afraid of pain that he would unconsciously suppress it down, not knowing this feeling inside him was worse. Gerard had always been right. He was bound to burst at some point, in a hysterical panic.

 

 _Next year_ , he tells himself.

 

 _Next year_ , he repeats.

 

 _Next year_...

 

Until there aren’t any years left.

 

“Here.”

 

Leo looks up from the ground to Cristiano who had managed to get up and go back to the kitchen to grab the other bag that he was now presenting to Leo without being noticed.

 

Leo blinks. He sees his almost finished box sitting on the coffee table along with the chopsticks. Cristiano must’ve pulled them out of his hands and set them down there. He turns back to the bag in the other’s hands.

 

”What?”

 

Cristiano puts the bag in his lap, sitting back down in his spot. “Just take it and stop thinking so hard about stuff that doesn’t matter anymore, okay?”

 

Leo wonders if Cristiano gets the same thoughts he does about Argentina with Portugal. At least he made it to the final, Cristiano couldn’t even get past to the knock out stages with how poor his team was. But being brutally honest in his own opinion, Cristiano would never feel the same pressure with Portugal that Leo felt with Argentina. However Cristiano is the only one who understands what it feels like to have the excruciating weight of not winning a World Cup on his shoulders constantly. Because you obviously can’t be the best if you don’t win the World Cup. 

 

He opens the bag, peeking in. He freezes when he sees what’s inside.

 

”A... Alfajores?”

 

Cristiano glances at him from where he was still watching the movie. “Yeah.”

 

Leo pulls the box out, staring at them for a moment. He looks up at Cristiano then, making eye contact. “ _You_ bought me alfajores?”

 

Cristiano flushes pink then. “I _bought_ them. For _me_. And decided to _share_. Do you not want them?” He says sarcastically with a scowl, but he looks embarrassed almost. Leo holds back the grin.

 

“Since when do _you_ like alfajores?” 

 

“Since forever?”

 

”Oh really? When was the last time you ate an alfajor?” Leo asks with a teasing glint in his eyes. 

 

“Yesterday?”

 

”I didn’t see you eat an alfajor.”

 

”I had one before you got here, okay!?” Cristiano stammers, turning even redder and Leo thinks he should probably stop messing around with the poor guy. He continues anyways though, because torturing Cris was just too much fun.

 

He slides over to Cristiano, opening the box without looking away from the others narrowed eyes. “You wouldn’t mind having one then, right?” He asks innocently. He knows so well through Geri just how much Cristiano hates sweets, so this is just so much fun for him. 

 

Cristiano’s face visibly drops. “I’m full.”

 

”One won’t hurt.”

 

”We have a game tomorrow.”

 

”Just one.” Leo holds the box out to him with a raised eyebrow. Cristiano stares down at him like he’s the devil reborn.

 

Cristiano tries to hide his grimace as he reaches over, grabbing a cookie. He bites into it, glaring at Leo’s face as he did it. Leo doesn’t miss the way Cristiano's face scrunches up in disgust, having to refrain himself from bursting out laughing at the will of this man. 

 

“That’s funny,” Leo mutters, his hand propping his head up with his arm against the back of the couch. He can see the freckles on Cristiano’s face from this close. Cristiano stares at him warily as he finishes his cookie, Leo smiling in fake sweetness. “Geri used to always say you hated sweets.” 

 

Cristiano freezes for a moment. “Well, that was like, seven years ago.”

 

“Uh huh,” Leo hums, staring at him.

 

”I mean it.”

 

Leo only grins wildly.

 

”Seriously Leo, people change.”

 

Leo bursts out laughing then, letting his head drop onto Cristiano’s shoulder as he shakes. “God, Cris! Drop the act already!” 

 

“Those are so fucking disgusting. How much sugar do you need in a single damn cookie!?” Cristiano coughs, drinking from his water bottle frantically. “I’m gonna have diabetes because of that devil cookie.”

 

Leo just can’t stop _laughing_ , hand clenched tightly around Cristiano’s arm. “You’re so damn stubborn!”

 

Cristiano’s chest vibrates when he chuckles. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Thanks for the premature sugar high, by the way.”

 

”I still can’t believe you actually ate it.”

 

” _I_ still can’t believe you actually eat those for amusement.”

 

”You’re such a fitness junkie.” Leo pulls away, snatching the box out of his lap and jogging off up the stairs. “Thank you!”

 

Cristiano smiles against his hand as he watches him leave. “Don’t eat them all! You still have a match to play tomorrow, Pulga!” He calls out.

 

”You can’t stop me!”

 

~

 

**_Ronaldo House; Madrid, Spain 3:16 am_ **

 

 ****Leo gasps awake, sitting up with a hand pressed against his racing heart. A sheer layer of cold sweat lays over his cold and shaking body. He feels tears running down his cheeks and wipes them away viciously.

 

The images of the ball barely rolling past the far right post, barely past Neuer’s glove is engraved in his mind. Images of German players celebrating in front of him, Chile players... Images of fans throwing trash at him as he walked off the pitch. Then, him dressed in white, looking up at the hundreds of Real fans cursing at him, a sea of blue and red cursing his existence for ever thinking leaving Barcelona was okay, even for a week. 

 

He let’s in heavy breaths to calm himself. He didn’t know what to do anymore. They just kept getting worse and worse. He doesn’t think he’s gotten a single good nights sleep ever since he came to Madrid. The nightmares are almost as bad as the ones he got after losing the World Cup, and those were the _worst_.

 

He needed to talk about it with someone. Desperately. Maybe Gerard when they made up, or even Neymar. Just anyone. He couldn’t keep waking up like this in the middle of the night regretting everything he’s ever done in his life. It was driving him absolutely crazy. And even when he wasn’t having nightmares, his mind was constantly drifting to the failures he had made. The only time he actually felt like himself anymore was on the pitch, when nothing else mattered but the game.

 

He shoves his covers off, pulling a sweater over his bare skin and pulling his pajama bottoms up higher when they fell a bit through his restless sleep. He goes to the bathroom and splashes some water on his face. When he pulls back he takes a good moment to look himself in the mirror. 

 

The heavy and dark bags under his dimmed eyes are not even a surprise to him anymore. He genuinely doesn’t remember what he looked like without them.

 

” _Who are you_?” Leo whispers to himself, staring back at the dead looking man in the reflection.

 

His skin was pale and there was just something missing from him that had never returned since that World Cup final. The spark.

 

Not even a treble could bring it back.

 

He was selfish, he knew that. He wanted it all no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. He needed the World Cup. No matter _how_ many people, no matter _who_ told him he didn’t, he need it. He needed it so badly. 

 

But he just _can’t_.

 

Leo feels his sleeve fall off his shoulder as he covers his face with his hands, leaning against the counter top. He doesn’t know how to be the same man he was before all the losses. He wonders when football with Argentina turned from being an honor to a chore, a _nightmare_.

 

Funny. He vowed to himself that when that happened, that he would finally quit. 

 

But he just can’t leave Argentina like that. Like a _failure_. Because with Argentina, that’s what he was. A failure. No one could change his mind on it. 

 

He pulls his hands back, staring into his own dull eyes. 

 

 _This year_. He promises himself. _Copa America 2016... This year._

 

The hole in his chest doesn’t leave.

 

He turns the light of the bathroom off, leaving his room all together and walking down the dark hallway. He trips into the wall with a dull thud, letting out a string of curses in a whisper when he stubs his toe. The moon illuminated the area through large windows as he makes his way down the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake Cristiano up.

 

He finds the kitchen, reaching up into the cupboard and pulling out a glass, and walking over to the sink. He pulls the handle, filling the cup up before turning it off and taking a large and greedy gulp.

 

”Leo?”

 

Leo turns to see a sleepy Cristiano looking right at him. Before he could even get a good look at the other man, Cristiano quickly turns the light off.

 

Leo blinks in the darkness, barely making out the shadowy silhouette of the Portuguese. “What the fuck are you doing?” Leo asks, turning the switch on his side that turns the light on as well.

 

Cristiano turns them off again in a heartbeat. “I should be asking you that. Why are you awake this early in the morning?”

 

”I needed water. Why do you keep turning the lights off?” Leo asks in annoyed confusion, trying to turn the light on again but Cristiano shuts them off just as quick. 

 

“Stop it!” Leo snaps. 

 

“Go back to bed!”

 

”I can’t when you want me to be fucking blind!”

 

Leo turns them on, Cristiano turns them off.

 

”Cristiano I swear—“

 

He stops abruptly, realization hitting him.

 

”The hair.”

 

”What?” Cristiano asks, and Leo doesn’t miss the nervousness in his voice.

 

”It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Leo asks and Cristiano’s silence is enough of a confirmation. “The hat yesterday morning, the waking up super early, the comb in the car, and now with the lights... you’re doing it because you don’t want me to see your natural hair, aren’t you?”

 

Leo can practically feel Cristiano’s red cheeks from across the room. 

 

“Oh my god, you are.”

 

Leo hears him turn sharply to leave, stopping him. “Wait!”

 

Cristiano stops.

 

Leo walks carefully over, trying not to fall on his face until he reaches the other man. Cristiano is tense when Leo turns him back around with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Seriously Cris? You know I don’t care, right?” Leo tells him slowly. “You don’t have to do all that in front of me. I’m not a stupid journalist.”

 

Cristiano doesn’t say anything.

 

Leo reaches over, turning the light on and this time Cristiano doesn’t stop him. 

 

Cristiano’s cheeks were definitely flushed with embarrassment, looking away with a frown. Dark and thick brown curls rested on the top of his head, slightly messy from sleep, falling on his forehead a bit.

 

Leo feels his lips stretch in a wide smile.

 

”Besides, I like it. It looks cute.”

 

Cristiano turns to him then, eyes unwavering as they stared into his. “Shut up.”

 

”Aw, Crissy,” Leo teases, reaching up and tangling his fingers in the other’s soft hair, pulling gently on the curls. “Are you embarrassed with me complimenting you?”

 

”Get off— don’t touch my hair!” Cristiano tries to slap his hands away, Leo laughs as he tugs on the curls a bit rougher. “But it’s so soft and you look adorable!”

 

”Shut the fuck up or your ass will be walking to the Bernabeu tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Cris...
> 
> Oh Leo...
> 
> What has this tournament done to you two??
> 
> Just one thing;
> 
>  
> 
> Fuck the World Cup
> 
> That’s all I gotta say.
> 
> (SPAIN T_T


End file.
